Fidelis Memoria, A Christmas Tale
by Rookatthedoor
Summary: The few days leading up to Christmas for One Henry Fitzroy. A little history and little fun a little love. Fidelis Memoria...Faithful Memory... Merry Christmas.
1. Chapter 1

**T**he interior of the Jag was warm, perhaps a little too warm given the settings of the defrost that blasted the interior of the windshield. The rushing air had relegated the frost to the corners of the glass.

Outside that glass the streets of downtown Toronto lay captive under a December cold snap. The night was dark and bitterly cold and Avenue Road was a solid stream of red taillights and as the temperature fell, the roads became slick and then icy.

The vampire maneuvered the Jag skillfully, maintaining control even when the vehicle slipped sideways on the icy patches. Part of his attention was focused on the flashing lights and the roar of the engines outside the enclosed cabin of the car, but the majority of his attention was taken by the two passengers that accompanied him. Their warmth and anticipation charged the air around him.

Vicki sat in the passenger seat, her body turned towards the back where Coreen was perched, leaning forward onto the back of Henry's seat. It violated all of his instincts to have another being directly behind him, especially when a portion of his attention was directed to controlling the car, and he continually drew in her scent to calm his jangling nerves. _It is only Coreen. Only Coreen,_ he told himself as he listened to their conversation.

"You're sure it's down here?" Vicki asked.

"Uh-huh, maybe four blocks and then take a…right," Coreen mumbled around the candy cane that she held in her mouth.

Henry could see Vicky in his peripheral vision as she waved the sticky end of her own half eaten candy cane in his direction. "Go straight for four blocks and then turn…" she repeated as he interrupted.

"I'm right here Vicki, I heard her. 'Then take a right,'" he said, leaning slightly away to the left to avoid the sticky sweet.

"Don't be such a humbug Henry," Vicki said as she leaned towards him, placing her palm flat on his thigh and pressing her sticky lips against his cheek. Her words emerged in a warm puff of peppermint scented breath. "This is supposed to be fun."

"Oh shit!" Coreen yelped from the back seat and Henry's eyes flashed forwards to see a car that had braked in the approaching lane begin to slide on the ice towards the Jag. He resisted the urge to hit the brakes and instead smoothly turned the car towards the edge of his lane, watching as the other driver fought for control. Henry felt rather than saw Vicky brace her hands on the dash and heard her muttered, "No…no…Noooo…ahhh," as the other car eventually came to rest just a few inches shy of the Jag.

As he edged the Jag straight and back into traffic, the vampire was doubly conscious of the real frailty of the lives that accompanied him, the lives that he loved. He would heal from virtually any injury that did not sever his head or pierce his heart; his human companions would not.

"Jeez, that was close!" Coreen said behind his ear, her chin resting almost on the back of his seat. She was peering out the windshield. Suddenly she tapped him excitedly on the shoulder. "Here, turn right here, Henry!" her voice rising in pitch.

The back end of the car slid wide as Henry responded to her tone, taking the turn with a sudden twist of the wheel, Coreen's fingers digging into his shoulder to steady herself.

"Coreen, please," Henry said resignedly once he had the car under control, "It's just a Christmas tree lot. If I'd overshot it we could have come around the block again. Five minutes more won't make any difference."

"Sure it does, Henry," Vicki said. "Someone could be walking off with the perfect tree for the office even as we speak. Straight down here then left into the IGA parking lot. Right Coreen?"

"Yes, it's the Boy Scout lot; they have the best trees every year."

Henry pulled into the crowded parking lot of the IGA store; the lot was full of shoppers pushing carts full of Christmas grocery supplies through the slush to their cars, the aisles between the parked cars a virtual obstacle course of abandoned carts.

"It's no use looking for parking here, drive around to the side of the store. That's where the tree lot is," Coreen instructed.

Henry was more than slightly out of his element, _it wasn't like he spent a great deal of time frequenting the grocers, being that he hadn't eaten in, well, centuries_. When he turned the corner of the building he was relieved to see the chain link enclosure of the tree lot, and three empty parking spots directly in front of the open gate. Before he had completely pulled the car to a stop, Vicki had the door open and she was climbing out.

When Coreen emerged she took Vicki's arm and the two of them pulled ahead while he brought up the rear of the little cavalcade.

Henry thought as he watched them, _What has happened to my hardened and cynical PI? Something has changed her into an excited and enthusiastic participant in the season._

_Where ever did Coreen get that down coat? _he thought_. She has assumed dimensions roughly equivalent to the Michelin tire man—and that patterned Sherpa woolen hat with the ear flaps pulled down and the tassel hanging in the back. I am pretty sure that it is not approved Goth attire, _he thought with a smile as he watched her pull away from Vicki like an excited child.

"Let's find the really big ones," he heard her say, as she passed through the gate into the lot.

"Go ahead and start looking Coreen, check out what they have. I'm just going to wait for _Mr. Christmas_ here, and then we'll see what we can find as well. Just remember, it has to fit in the front office," Vicki said over her shoulder as she paused to wait for Henry.

Henry had to admit that he liked this new holiday version of Vicki. There was a widening crack in the cool and reserved façade that she presented to the world, allowing for a glimpse of the passion that she normally kept hidden.

As Henry drew even with Vicki, she crooked her arm, inviting him to place his arm through hers, with a comical attempt to raise an eyebrow, which produced an expression more akin to what Henry was feeling—astonishment.

The perimeter of the tree lot was defined by temporary poles and chain link fencing. Between the poles hung bowed lines of light bulbs, yellow and incandescent and blessedly unobtrusive to the vampire's night–adapted vision. All was anchored at one corner by a ramshackle trailer in which huddled the lot attendant like the proverbial troll under the bridge.

There, piled against the chain link so that it sagged outward, or leaning against rough wooden walls inside the lot, were hundreds of Christmas trees. For the most part bound around with twine and ignominiously trussed like prisoners, they lay in stacks on the ground. A few were standing upright, fluffed out in their solitary glory, nailed to a plywood stand.

Further down the aisle Henry could see Coreen talking animatedly to the sales person and was just slightly dismayed to note that she stood on tip–toe to reach far above her head and then extended her arms fully side to side to indicate the dimensions of the tree she was seeking. It was even more perturbing that the man nodded his head in agreement and then raised a gloved hand to indicate that she should follow and they both disappeared into the back of the lot.

Despite the fact that the evening was cold and dark, and the air chilled, there were many people in the lot. The artist in Henry fell to studying those around him as he strolled about arm–in–arm with Vicki around the edges of the lot.

There was an abundance of smiling faces with chilled cheeks reddened with the cold, and noses that were chapped and red. Their breath hung in the air in a steamy cloud of warmth, and above the scent of peppermint emanating from Vicki, Henry could trace the distinctive sent of woolen coats and clothing. Underlying all was the sharp and fresh scent of the pine and spruce trees which surrounded them

The living scent of the pine boughs rose up around him. He was proud, proud that his nurse thought he was big enough to carry them. He buried his face in the soft green needles and drew in a big breath. His cheeks were cold and red and the tips of his ears beneath his red gold curls were aching with the cold.

"Harry," she had said, "little angel, you may help to carry the boughs from the sleigh to the stable, but you must understand that Martin will have to carry them up to the hall."

Henry nodded; he understood even then that what Nurse allowed him to do in the company of the servants and what he was permitted to do in the "hall" were two different things.

Martin was his friend; Martin was Nurse's friend as well. Martin was a groom and he was the one who drove the sleigh. Nurse called him Harry or "little angel," but Martin called him Master Henry, and when they had come down to the stable, it was Martin who carried him about on his shoulders.

It was Martin who laughed and jostled the toddler about, calling out to him as his curls brushed the low beams, "Duck down, little Master, neighhhh, neighhhh. Duck down Curly Top."

It was Martin who had placed the woven ivy wreath on his curls, Martin who had tucked the blanket around them in the sleigh and put hot stones wrapped in cloths at their feet.

It was Martin who had whistled up the horses and set off at a thrilling clip across the snow towards the trees, the harnesses jingling and the trilling laughter of the bastard taking to the crisp air.

Henry knew that if it was anyone but Nurse, he would not be allowed to leave the sleigh. But it was Nurse, and as she watched, Henry tramped through the snow in Martin's wake and as Martin cut the boughs from the pines Henry would dash in and drag them back to the sleigh.

Soon enough his sturdy little legs grew tired and Nurse bid him come and climb back up beside her on the seat of the sleigh. She brushed away the snow and cuddled him up next to her, warmed by her own body and the tanned fur rugs of the sleigh.

When the boughs were loaded and the horses turned for home, Henry was warm and tired and he began to doze, the thin lids drooping over his huge blue eyes, and the tiny thumb crept up between the rosebud lips.

Martin held the reins loosely in one hand and leaned back. Nurse leaned forward and Henry opened his eyes in time to see their lips meet.

He knew why people kissed; Nurse kissed him because she loved him and because he was her "little angel." Mama kissed him, when he was presented to her in her morning room, or sometimes at night when she came to his cradle and she told him that she loved him, that he was the joy of her heart. And sometimes his father, the King, kissed him, when he held him aloft, laughing and proclaiming in a loud voice his joy in his beloved son.

So Henry knew that Nurse loved Martin, and he thought that this was good, because he loved Martin too and at somewhat more than four years of age he knew, that this was one more secret to be kept from the big house.

"I'm not asleep," Henry said.

"Are you not, Master Woodsman?" Martin laughed. "Well no need to go so slow then, if you're not sleeping like a babe. Why, they're terribly anxious to get these boughs back to deck the hall for Christmastide. Do you think we should go a little faster then?"

So it was they arrived back to the stable with the horses lathered, and the scent of fresh cut pine all around them.

When the branches were all unloaded to a pile, Nurse took his hand in hers and said, "It is time for your lessons Harry, you must come up to see your tutor now."

"Surely not before Master Curly Top stops by to see Cook. She told me that she was baking up something special today," Martin said with a broad wink. "Why a man who has been working so hard surely deserves a…

"Henry!" Vicki's voice brought him back to himself with a start. "Where in hell were you?" she asked and then continued without waiting for a reply, "I was saying, what do you think of this one?"

Vicki held up a tree bound in a tight column with twine. "Hold it up while I cut the string," Vicki said. As Henry grasped the top of the tree, Vicki dug in her pocket to retrieve her Swiss Army knife, a favorite Christmas gift from Mike two years ago. She pulled it open with a snap and cut the twine.

"You need to bang the stump end on the ground a couple of times," she instructed, "so that the boughs fall down and we can see how full it is. Haven't you ever shopped for a Christmas tree before?"

"Upon occasion, Victoria," Henry replied as he grasped the tree by the trunk and shook it out, rapping the butt end sharply on the concrete and eliciting a flurry of needles, which lodged on the sleeves and front of his coat. He wished that he had thought to bring the leather gloves he had left in the car; he could feel the stickiness of the pine sap on his fingers already.

"This one has a bend in the trunk, it won't stand straight," Vicki declared critically. "What about that one?"

Henry obligingly hauled the tree in question upright, while Vicki once again plied her blade to the twine. Once again came the fluffing of the branches, the rain of pine needles and the scent of the forest in the dark.

"Too tall and thin" was the verdict on the second tree, and then the next three in short order, "Too short," or "Too full," or "Too lopsided."

They had been looking for fifteen minutes, and Henry was beginning to despair that the lot contained a tree that would come close to meeting Victoria's exacting standards.

He was covered in needles and dust and pine tar and his fingers were freezing. Nothing destroyed Henry's good humor as quickly as having cold hands.

"Jeez, maybe they don't have one," Vicki paused as she caught sight of the expression on Henry's face. "You probably didn't think that you were going to grow up to be a woodsman, did you?" she asked with a smile.

"I have to admit, that a princely education was sadly lacking in that area," Henry replied a little stiffly. He ran a hand through his hair without thought and managed to transfer both stickiness and needles to his curls.

Vicki tried her best not to laugh as she looked down to her feet for a few seconds. When she looked up Henry was chafing his hands together in a rather vain effort to generate some frictional warmth.

"Blow on them, Henry," she instructed.

"It won't help," he replied. He moved closer and confided in a whisper, "I haven't fed since night before last; until I feed my body temperature will stay low. After I hunt, I will be warmer."

Vicki looked closely at the vampire. Now that he had said it she realized that compared to the rosy cold–reddened cheeks of the humans, the vampire's face was completely pale. His words didn't drift away into the night air on the same dense moist puff of steam as did her own.

_Does the cold bother him,_ she wondered. _I mean...will he freeze, get frostbite the way we will, and would that kill him?_ Vicki shook her head. _Not exactly the kinds of things you can just out and out ask._ Instead she reached for Henry's hands and, cupping them between her own, she brought them to her lips and blew her warm breath softly over the cold flesh.

Henry felt her warm breath pass over his hands and he clamped down unmercifully on the vampire that roared to life in that instant. His eyes were calm blue when she looked up into his face and he lifted a single finger to run it gently under her lower lip as he smiled at her.

That smile always melted her heart. "You should have said you were hungry Henry. Maybe we could…"

"No Vicki, though I appreciate the offer, that is a habit that would be too easy for me to acquire, and dangerous for us both. As long as I hunt before dawn, I will be fine," he said with a regretful smile.

"Uh, did you guys find anything?" Coreen's voice interrupted the moment, "Because there is a great one at the back down there."

"Lead the way, please Coreen," Henry said and he took Vicki's arm. She clasped his hand in hers and buried both inside her jacket pocket.

As Coreen led the way back down the lot and Vicky walked beside him, he was painfully aware of her. The sweetness of her scent, the creaking of the cold leather of her jacket and the soft woolen scent of the scarf, mercifully swathed around and around her enticing throat. Peeking from beneath her hair he could see the tips of her ears, colored pink with the cold. She hunched her shoulders inside her jacket; her heart thumped out a seductive beat. Henry could feel his eyes begin to darken.

"Oh Coreen," Vicki said, "I think that that might be it. What do you think Henry?"

He glanced at the sales attendant who was holding up a tree far taller than himself. The man blinked once as he glimpsed the predator moving in Henry's eyes.

"I think this is the one," Henry said smoothly, dragging forward his most disarming smile.

"Oh good," Coreen said as she pulled her bag around to the front of her body. "So that's forty-five for the tree and how much for the delivery charges?" she asked.

"No delivery this year," the attendant said, his eyes narrowing as he considered the young man before him. "We lost our shirt on that last year."

"No delivery," Henry echoed, a sudden sinking feeling spreading through him.

"Uhh-uh," the attendant took in the expensive clothes and the pale youthful face, "I can give you some rope though and you can tie it to the roof of your car."

Henry could feel both Coreen's and Vicki's eyes on him. _They know how careful I am about that…_ His shoulder slumped in defeat before they could even begin their arguments.

"Fine," he said shortly, "We'll tie it to the car."

If the ride to the tree lot had been hair-raising, the return trip to the office was a nightmare.

The satisfaction that Henry felt as the self-satisfied look on the attendant's face disappeared when he had lifted the tree effortlessly to the roof of the car, evaporated quickly, as the drive began.

Henry could hear the scratching of the tree on the roof of the car, clearly, even past the chill of the wind rushing in the open windows. Henry was well aware of how comical the picture of the sports car with the ostentatiously large tree tied precariously to the top was. Unfortunately he failed to see the same level of humor in the situation that Vicki did.

Coreen and Vicki were laughing and joking, each of them with an arm out the window to hold onto a branch and steady the massive tree, as Henry made his slow progress back to the office.

By the time they finally pulled to the curb, _thank the merciful saints that there was a parking spot in front_ _of the office,_ Vicki and Coreen were engaged in a giggling wager whether Henry had actually known Charles Dickens in person or not and given the current state of his temper, that perhaps Dickens had modeled Scrooge after a certain vampire.

When asked directly, Henry had refused to answer other than a terse, "I have always enjoyed Dickens work, though it is perhaps a tad over-sentimental."

Henry was treated to repeated falsetto impersonations of Tiny Tim's famous line, "God Bless us every-one," first by Vicki and then Coreen, as they cut the rope that held the tree to the Jag and he levered the tree upright in the street.

"If you would be so kind as to unlock the door, Victoria," he said tightly, "perhaps we could all get in out of the cold."

As Vicki unlocked the door she turned to Henry and said, "bring the butt end of the tree here and you and I will drag it up the stairs. Coreen, you be on the bottom and maneuver the tree top while we pull it up."

Once they had managed to pull the tree through the door, they got it as far as the stairs, Vicki and Henry side by side on each tread, hauling the tree backwards up the steps.

They were making good progress until a branch that had been bowed by the railing suddenly sprang back, catching Vicki across the face, causing her to lose her grip and land on her bottom on the stair tread. Henry caught the weight of the tree before it could slip down onto Coreen, hovering uselessly below, but managed to somehow step on the end of Vicki's scarf, effectively choking her when she struggled to rise.

"Will it help if I push from down here?" Coreen inquired as she heard Vicki cursing aloud.

"No!" both Henry and Vicki shouted simultaneously as they grappled with the lower branches for a better grip.

The last hurdle was the door to the office and after Vicki had unlocked it, she and Henry, shoulder to shoulder, attempted to ease the wide base of the tree through the narrow width of the doorway.

"Look, we'll pull and you push, Coreen, on the count of three. Ready? One, two, three!" Vicki called and pulled as hard as she could on the branch she was holding. The tree cleared the door in a sudden whoosh that overbalanced both Vicki and the vampire, leaving them lying side by side on the floor beneath the tree.

Vicki turned to look at Henry through watery eyes and burst out laughing at the affronted expression on his face. "If you could see your face Henry," she began and then paused as he turned towards her. She captured his lips with hers and managed to free an arm to grab a handful of his jacket and pull him towards her. She felt the tension melt out of him as he responded to her kiss.

She could hear Coreen's anxious voice, "Are you guys okay?"

Then from the bottom of the stairs came Celluci's voice. "Hey Vic! The door is wide open down here, and there is a giant trail of pine needles on the carpet. Oh, and would you tell Santa Vamp that he left his headlights on?"


	2. Chapter 2

**T**he evening was cold, not just chilly, but a biting cold that caught at the lungs. The vault of the heavens was clear and hard and black, populated by the wheeling stars. The night was cold; the night was…holy.

Underfoot, the snow was tamped down hard and slippery by the foot traffic that had moved along the sidewalks not yet cleared of the afternoon snowfall. It crunched beneath the heels of his boots, with a frozen squeak that was impossible to silence unless he took to the drifted powder of the boulevard or the lawns that he passed by.

He trod carefully, for the sidewalk's surface was in places slick with ice refrozen in random patterns. The light dusting of granulated snow over the milky ice was dangerous to the unwary and he had no more inclination than the next person to have his feet fly out from under him and land jarringly and ignominiously on his back on the ground.

It was early evening, no more than 5:30 PM. This far north, the vampire woke in the late afternoon, the sun having fled by the time the clocks read four p.m.

It was a welcome novelty, to have the night stretch out to such a luxurious length in front of him as he drew in the first breath of the night. In this time of the year he had sometimes more than 16 hours of life before the sun claimed his consciousness each day.

Much of the normal daylight human sphere was now conducted in the dark, and so he had an access to the bustle of human activity that was denied him in the summer months of lighter evenings.

It both excited and disconcerted him, and he often took to the streets upon rising, to blend in with the crowds of commuters returning home from work, the shoppers in the downtown core, toting their bags and whistling shrilly for taxis.

He had even ventured to the malls to stroll under the impossibly bright lights, watching young families with toddlers line up to sit on the knee of Father Christmas. He had drunk in the innocent wonder on the young one's faces as they whispered their wish list of Christmas treats.

It was seldom that Henry was able to observe the very young in their element and he treasured the chance to see the excited shining eyes and cherubic faces crowned by golden curls or silken straight locks or in the case of one precocious three year old, a stiffened Mohawk. Often when he returned home to his condo he would spend the time filling sketch books of random images of the children he had seen.

This evening he had decided to walk to Vicki's office. _The tree they had purchased yesterday_, he shook his head ruefully at the thought, _would be standing in the office now_. Following their misadventures yesterday evening in the tree lot and the transportation of said tree to the office, there had been a very sweet kiss and then an awkward meeting with Detective Celluci.

Henry had been hungry and the incessant ribbing that the Detective had subjected him to had quickly caused the vampire to gain the upper hand. He really hadn't meant to lose control in that manner, and was grateful, _truly_, to Vicki and her quick thinking in separating the two rivals forcibly.

After delivering what he felt was a rather handsome apology, considering the circumstances, Henry had absented himself sporting a black eye, which had since healed. _Lucky blow_, he thought.

_I'm fairly sure when I see Celluci tonight he will still be sporting a series of finger–shaped bruises around his throat_, he thought with a satisfied smile. _You can take her out to dinner Celluci, wine and dine her, but you will be gone to Aspen and I will still be here. One man's ski holiday is another vampire's opportunity._

In spite of the aforementioned indiscretion, tonight when Mike and Vicki returned from dinner they were meeting with Henry and Coreen at the office, to decorate the tree.

He had a few hours until he needed to be there and as he had fed yesterday evening, he had decided to walk the streets of his territory.

He thought back to the hunt, last night. He had been outside of the Bloor Street TTC station. Sometimes he would select prey from the commuters, stalking one or another for a few blocks until he found an opportune place to feed.

Last night he had been watching when a young man had snatched a purse out of the arms of an elderly woman. The thief had pushed aside several bystanders as he fled, however he had been stopped short, as though by a brick wall, when Henry stepped in front of him.

A whispered word of command in the young man's ear and then Henry had turned him around and, holding tight to his arm, marched the thief back to the woman. He had compelled him to return the purse and to apologize profusely.

Then he had taken him, unresisting, by the arm and led him away from the lights of the station into the dark. When it came to baring his throat to the vampire, the thief had proved surprisingly resistant to Henry's compulsion. In the end though Henry had fed well, and left the young man a little dazed and somewhat wiser, seated at a bus stop.

The white expanse of a park opened to his right. The snow lying smooth and unblemished in large stretches, blue–lit in the dips and hollows of the park's winding paths. At one end squatted a low building that Henry knew was an elementary school. From here he could glimpse the paper snowflakes and construction paper Santas decorating the classroom windows.

The vampire cocked his head to one side, listening. He could hear a curious sound that he was having difficulty identifying. A scratching swish then a crack and a thud, then a moment later a repetition of the sounds, again and again.

Henry left the sidewalk and headed out across the park, drawn forward by the strange series of noises. As he cleared the top of the rise he saw, a short distance across the field, a small informal neighborhood ice rink. In the evening cold there was a single figure with a hockey stick, skating in the light provided by a lamppost at either end of the frozen rectangle.

Henry watched as the figure pulled back the stick and then swung hard, the lower edge of the wood swishing against the ice and then the sharp crack of the blade slapping the hard rubber puck followed by the hollow thump of the puck striking the boards at the end of the rink.

Henry watched as the young man pushed himself forward on his skates, his body lithe and youthfully gangly under the bulky clothing, the lighting casting his cold blue shadow on the surface of the rink. He moved with a strange and sinuous grace. He twisted and turned with a smooth agility that seemed at odds with the rawboned bulk of youth.

The vampire moved closer, his attention arrested, to lean against the boards surrounding the rink. No Zamboni here to groom the rink's surface, just the judicious application of layer after layer of water from a hose wielded by the workers of the Parks Board. The resulting ice, though rough around the edges, was serviceable enough. A rag tag snow shovel leaned against the boards, ready to be pressed into service to clear any accumulation of snow, by the skaters who wished to use the rink.

Even now there were tiny wandering flakes drifting slowly down from the heavens. Henry listened to the scrape of the well–worn metal blades against the ice and watched the small plume of shavings that fanned upwards as the young man turned in an abrupt stop as he retrieved the puck from between the leaning goal posts. The ragged remnants of the net lifted faintly in the night airs.

Henry had to smile at the comic wriggling of the skater's hips as he moved backwards to position himself to shoot again, but he was seized by a certain appreciation of the dexterity required in the side to side movement of the stick as the boy shepherded the puck back along the ice.

Henry remained where he was, watching as the young man continued to shoot again and again while the slap of the stick underscored the night.

Eventually the strength he exhibited in his shots began to wane, and as the skater turned he noticed Henry standing at the boards. He glided across the intervening distance between them and when he spoke Henry heard the lyric accent of Canada's eastern coastal communities.

"Did y'er bring y'er skates then, b'uy?" he asked.

Henry smiled at the chapped red face and replied easily, "No, I was just out for a walk, and I thought I would watch you take some shots."

"Just as well, I's pretty much dead tired anyways. D' y'er live here abouts?"

"No not really," Henry replied. "I like to walk in the evenings though," he eventually offered.

The young man sat down on the wooden bench, and hauled a worn pair of work boots out from underneath. He raised a mittened hand to his lips and using his teeth, yanked off the heavy woolen mitten. He offered his large hand to Henry. "Garnett is m' name," he said by way of introduction.

Henry peeled off his glove and took the chilled fingers in his own. "Henry," he said, "Henry Fitzroy."

"Well Henry you picked a damn cold night to be walking around," Garnett said and then, removing the other mitten, he bent to work at the frozen laces of the battered skates he was wearing.

"Do you think it's colder here then, than in Newfoundland?" Henry asked.

Garnett emitted a short bark of a laugh that wreathed his head in steam. "What gave me away? Was it me accent?" he asked, his eyes crinkling up with amusement.

Henry smiled and shrugged eloquently.

"I've been here in Toronto for only t'ree month now, just getting settled in y'know. I have t' say b'uy, I do miss me family, 'specially dis time o' year.

Garnett sighed loudly as he finally freed his foot from the skate, flexing his ankle and drawing his foot up briefly to massage his numb toes with his hands. Henry watched him reach inside his coat and pull out a balled pair of heavy grey work socks from next to his body.

"I like to keep an extra pair warm to put on b'fore me boots," he explained.

"Will you be returning home for Christmas?" Henry asked. He thought that Garnett might be eighteen or nineteen years old; the softness of youth had not left his face yet.

"Oh no way, I volunteered to work in the store on Christmas Day, I'll get double time if I do and that'll be that much more that I can send back home for the folks. My da's on the dole, y'know; the fisheries are all buggered up, so I decided that t'would be better for me, te' head west to the big T.O." Garnett confided.

By the time that Garnett had changed into his boots, Henry had learned that he had a room at a boarding house just a few blocks distant, that he would be spending Christmas eve alone there, though he hoped for a call from his parents and younger brother, and that he had a box there that had come in the mail just today, from his home.

As they strolled away from the rink, Garnett, pulling on his mittens again and holding the stick under his arm said thoughtfully, "Y' know, I think that I will miss the Christmas tree the most, the old family ornaments, 'specially the paste and paper ones that me' mum saved from when we were kids."

Henry glanced at the boyish face and wondered at the simple wisdom of his words.

"What do you think is in the box from home?" he couldn't help but ask.

Garnett glanced at him, "Oh, y' know, all the things that mums make for their kids—cookies, cakes, presents, a stocking, some photographs, that kind of thing. I'm saving it to open on Christmas Eve. It's me first Christmas on my own."

Garnett halted on the sidewalk outside of a darkened house. He shifted the skates that were hung by their knotted laces over his shoulder, and stuck out his hand once more. "Merry Christmas Henry," he said, "it was nice talkin' to y'er."

Henry shook the proffered hand, saying softly, "And a Happy Christmas to you as well, Garnett."

When the young man had disappeared into the house Henry withdrew his watch from an inside pocket. _There is still time to visit the florists,_ he thought, _before I make my way to Vicki's._

Fifteen minutes later, Henry stood outside the florist's shop, which he frequently used. The window in front and the glass door of the establishment was fogged entirely, with the warmth and humidity that the shop contained.

_I will want something for Bettie, and then something for James tomorrow night; I can have them delivered during the day and then pick them up in the lobby tomorrow evening. I'll just need to remember to tell Greg to hold them for me. And also something for Victoria's mother, it never hurts to…_

His mind was busy as he pushed open the door of the shop and the close warm blanket of moist air enveloped him. Henry instantly reined in his senses, sorting quickly through and identifying the individual scents even as he nodded to the clerk, behind the counter.

The young woman's eyes brightened as she took in the handsome young man who had just entered with the chill breath of winter. _My god that hair_, she thought. "Can I help you to find something…" she began.

"No, no thank you," Henry replied with a faint smile, "I think I will just look around a bit."

He moved further into the shop, his attention first captured by a riotous arrangement of the waxy Christmas cacti, in brilliant pinks and reds, and then by a large grouping of the thrusting and phallic amaryllis, with their huge trumpet-like blooms.

Vases of blood red roses surrounded by a flurry of tiny white baby's breath vied for his attention with pebble–filled vases of the forced bulbs of white hyacinth.

His senses were nearly overpowered by the spicy scent of a tabletop covered in blooming paper whites, but when he moved to the back room of the store it was there that the sweet and fruity scent of orange blossom caught at his memory.

He missed Martin, and Nurse and Cook. He rubbed a small fist against his eye in an ineffectual attempt to stop the tears from falling. He remembered Martin's words to him, but…

Small sobs shook his childish frame; _it was so hard here…_

When the escort had come for Grandpapa and him, he had been excited. He had begged and begged until Nurse had relented and walked with him down to the stables to see the grand horses that were lodged there.

Nurse was sad, though he couldn't understand why.

Martin had taken a great deal of pleasure showing him the horses, pointing out their finer qualities and patiently answering his questions.

"Well, Master Henry," he had said when they were seated on a hay bale, munching on an apple that Martin had peeled and sliced with his small belt knife. "You are off to spend Christmastide with the King and his Court at Greenwich this year. That would be very exciting for an old man of six and more, like you, I would think."

"I should like to see my father, the King," Henry said, as he took the slice of apple that Martin held out to him on the tip of the knife, "but I am going to miss Nurse and Mama, and you, and the hounds, especially my puppy, oh and Cook's Christmas pudding.

"You'll have a grand time, I'm sure, Curly Top," Martin said as he ruffled the boy's hair. "You'll have your Grandsire, Sir John, with you and…" his voice had faded off and then he had cleared his throat and continued, "I'm sure everyone will be very kind."

_Well, everyone wasn't kind,_ he thought, _not at all_. His lip quivered and he could feel the warmth of the tears on his face. _And why did everyone seem angry with him and stare at him and whisper, "the bastard" whenever they saw him_? _I want Nurse, _he thought, as he gave way to tears.

Katherine slipped out of the chapel, gently closing the door behind her. She had sent her dithering attendants away so that she could have some time alone to think and pray. And pray she had, for all of her lost little ones. She prayed for their comfort and for the Virgin's intercession for them.

Private prayer and meditation always left her more composed for the trials of Court. Prayer always helped her to navigate the shifting and traitorous, glittering landscape of court intrigue. She grew so weary of the contemplative gazes and the false smiles and promises. Now if she was quick and quiet, she might maintain this fleeting serenity and return to her Privy chambers, unnoticed and alone.

She flitted along the gallery, in a swish of silken skirts, listening carefully for the footfalls or murmuring voices of the courtiers who thronged the palace for Henry's Christmas Festivities.

She paused to listen and she heard a curious sound. She heard the soft sobbing of a child in distress, the shuddering breaths and tiny moans of infant despair. She crossed to the alcove opposite and drew aside the heavy drapery.

Henry raised his teary eyes from where he had rested his head on his up–drawn knees. It was…it was…_the Queen? _

He dashed at the tears on his face and climbed quickly to his feet, executing an awkward and babyish bow which would definitely have earned him a cuff from his tutor.

"Y-your…majesty," he whispered, his voice thickened with tears. He wished desperately for a handkerchief, but in the end had to content himself with dragging his sleeve across his upper lip.

Katherine of Aragon, proud Queen of England, lowered herself slowly to her knees, and with a gentle smile held her arms open wide to her husband's bastard.

He smelled of soap and sadness and the indefinable precious scent of the very young. He had rushed without reserve into her arms, the guileless, blue–eyed, golden child who was irrefutable proof of her husband's infidelity.

She held the slender body in her embrace, patting his thin shoulders and whispering soothing sounds in his ears. She knew that the child was an innocent. Had she not just spent an hour on her knees beseeching the Holy Mother to succor the souls of her own lost younglings?

Setting the boy slightly away she rose gracefully and held out her hand. As the bastard slipped his tiny fingers into her hand, she smiled and held a finger to her lips. "Let us be very quiet, little sir," she whispered as she drew him after her.

When they were safely ensconced in her chambers Katherine lifted the boy onto a padded chair, fetching from a dish on her table a soft and sticky sweet. She handed it to the child who thanked her courteously enough, and then popped the whole sticky item into his mouth, the bulge in the downy cheek visible from across the room. Though the boy sniffed once or twice and tears still clumped the long lashes around those large blue eyes, it appeared that the depths of his despair had dissipated for the moment.

The Queen seated herself in an armed chair and regarded her diminutive visitor. He stared back curiously and maneuvered the sweet from one cheek to the other with his tongue. The Queen clasped her hands together in front of her and leaned forward in the chair.

"Tell me, little one, why were you crying?" she asked gently.

The child's face puckered slightly but he drew in a breath and said, "I know that Martin told me I must be brave, and do what Grandpapa asked me to do. And I try to remember all the things that the tutor told me. But I…I just miss my Nurse, and my Mama, and my puppy…and Martin." A single tear slipped down the now sticky face and the child swallowed heavily.

"And who is this Martin?" Katherine asked quietly.

"Martin is my friend," the boy replied eagerly. "He is a groom and he drives the sleigh and knows all about horses and…" here the child stuttered to a stop, suddenly wary, as though he had betrayed a confidence.

"Ah, I see," Katherine said. And she did see. She remembered well her own youth in Spain and the familial comfort provided by her nurse and other retainers.

"You are homesick little one, you miss those that you love," she said with a sad little smile.

She patted her knee in invitation and Henry jumped down to the floor, crossing to her without reserve. When she lifted him he cuddled into her arm.

"You smell like flowers," the child said as she stroked the silken curls.

"That is a perfume made from the blossoms of the orange tree. Your Father…the King, has it sent from my home in Spain for me. Is that not kind?" she asked.

The child nodded and then asked, "What is your home like, your…majesty?

"Oh, it is a lovely and warm place," she said, "The sun is very hot in the south and there are beautiful gardens. Orange trees fill the air with their scent when they are in bloom." Katherine smiled as she remembered. "I was very sad, when I first left there to come to England," she said as she picked up one of the small hands.

The bastard turned up his face to look her in the eye, his expression childishly sympathetic, "Were you h-homesick too?" he asked seriously. "Did it make you cry?"

Katherine nodded her head, "Yes, but I'll tell you what I did to make it better. Perhaps it will work for you too."

Katherine slid her hand into a small silken pocket at her side. She told Henry to hold out his hand and when he did she laid a small, flat, polished green stone in his palm.

"This is a stone from the garden in my home, I keep it with me. When I feel sad and I miss the people I love, like you do, I hold it in my hand and it always makes me feel better.

"Try it," she said, closing his small fingers gently around it. "Close your eyes." When the translucent lids had shuttered his gaze, she asked, "Do you feel better now?"

His head bobbed up and down, eyes still closed.

"Good," she said. "I think I should let you borrow my stone while you are here for Christmas, would you like that?"

Henry nodded and Katherine said, smiling, "But you will need to find a stone of your own when you go home, so the next time you come to Court, you can bring it with you. Put it away in your pocket now and…"

"They're beautiful aren't they? And the scent…" The woman's voice spoke directly behind him as her hand touched his arm.

He spun around, his eyes black and his fangs dropping as he startled back to the present. At her frightened gasp he realized where he was and that thankfully there was no one else in the store.

A moment later and the mildest of suggestions had the sales girl remembering nothing unusual about the young man who had spent so long admiring the forced orange blossoms that sweetened the air of the shop's back room.

Henry placed his orders, selecting for Bettie and for James, as well as an arrangement to be sent to Victoria's mother. Suddenly the shop was too moist, too warm, and too full of memories. He made his escape into the chill air of the night.

"Wait. Henry wait, careful!"

He heard Vicki's voice as the office door rebounded closed when he went to open it.

There was a curse and then a dragging sound, then Vicki opened the door and said, "Come on in," as she took his hand and drew him forward. "Mike was on the ladder, behind the door."

"You missed your chance, Fang Boy," Mike said as he climbed, the looped chain of lights in hand, up the re-positioned ladder, to lean over to the treetop.

In a blur the Vampire appeared, leaning casually, with one foot on the lower rung of the ladder; one quick shove and the blond would have been sprawled on the office floor.

He smiled slowly up into the shocked face of the Detective.

"May I assist you with those, Constable?"


	3. Chapter 3

**B**y 1:00 AM the tree stood in the corner of the office; well, more precisely the tree inhabited roughly a third of the front office. If there had ever been any doubt about the branches, "coming down," it was mitigated now. Anyone entering the reception area would need to physically brush past the tinsel covered branches as they edged between Coreen's desk and the door to Vicki's office.

"Okay, so now turn off the lights," Vicki instructed. Once the office overhead lighting faded the giant forest representative in the corner sprang to life, in a glittering, multi-colored, vision of Christmas cheer.

"It's beautiful," Coreen breathed. "It looks even better than I imagined when I picked it out."

"You did good kiddo," Mike said from where he leaned against Coreen's desk, regarding the tree. He swirled the scotch in his glass, the clinking of the ice audible.

"What do you think Count?" he asked. The habitual barb was there, but blunted by good cheer and the easy companionship that had existed while they had all been involved in decorating the tree. _Hell I even forgot Fitzroy was one of the blood-sucking undead for a while there._

Henry levered himself up from Coreen's chair in which he had been seated and walked up and down in front of the behemoth. His pose was one of the art critic, one hand on hip and one held at his chin as he studied the tree critically. The effect was clear, though slightly mitigated by the statically charged strands of foil tinsel that clung, shimmering, to the back of his shirt.

"Well," he said slowly, "I think perhaps we could have gone a little bigger!"

"Really?" Coreen questioned as she bounced across the room to join him at his vantage point. "Because I was thinking that…" Her voice trailed away as Henry folded her into his arms.

He ignored the fact that that he could hear the immediate increase in the speed of both Mike's and Vicki's heartbeats, choosing not to try and decipher what they thought.

He dropped a gentle kiss on the top of her head and angling in, whispered for her ears alone, "It is perfect, _little sister_, and thank you for including me." She brought her arms up around him and squeezed him in a tight hug, looking for a moment into his blue eyes. Then she dropped her arms and stepped away from his embrace.

Henry was relieved to note that though they appeared a little tense and the whiff of adrenalin reached him, neither Vicki nor Michael had moved from their original positions.

"So I'll pick you up tomorrow night for the Precinct Christmas Party at around eight," Mike said to Vicki, after a moment's hesitation.

"Right," Vicki said with a smile, "though why a bunch of cops drinking themselves into forgetfulness at Flannigan's is considered a Christmas party, I am not really sure."

"Well, because there's eggnog," Mike replied, "and the gag gift exchange, and remember last year when Dave…"

"Oh, I remember all right," Vicki held up a hand, "that particular image is going to haunt me for a long time."

Mike chuckled aloud. "Well I intend to have a few but I need to be up so early the next day for my flight to Aspen that I won't be getting out of control."

"Yeah, me neither. How I got roped in to spending Christmas Eve with my mother instead of just going out for Christmas day, I'm not really sure," Vicki said. "It's going to be bad enough having to spend that much time there. Trying to deal with my Mother with a hangover? I don't even want to think about it. "

Coreen yawned rather widely, as she began to pack away the decoration boxes. Henry could feel the weariness in his human companions though none of them made any comment. He rose and went to the coat rack to retrieve his jacket.

"This has been most enjoyable, but I think I should be on my way," he said. "I will be spending the evening with Bettie tomorrow night and I have a few things I want to accomplish at home."

"Present wrapping?" Coreen asked, her eyes sparkling.

"Yes," Henry replied, "and my own tree to decorate."

Celluci was shrugging into his own coat, "I'll give you guys a ride; it's on my way. Unless you want to play taxi, Fitzroy?"

"I am afraid that I walked here this evening detective," Henry said as he pulled on his gloves.

He went to the door and Vicki followed him, placing a hand on his shoulder gently. When he turned she kissed his cool cheek, and with a smile, said quietly, "If you want to, you could drop by tomorrow night, later."

Henry nodded then said, "Good night Coreen, Detective." And then he was gone down the stairs and out into the night.

Greg was at his regular post when Henry passed through the lobby. He glanced up from the portable DVD player that he brought out after midnight to while away the hours until the end of the night shift.

"Good evening, Mr. Fitzroy," Greg said.

"Good Evening, Greg," Henry replied as he pushed the button for the elevator.

While Henry waited for the elevator to descend, Greg said, "It's a wonderful life."

"It is?" Henry said a little quizzically, as one eyebrow rose.

The elevator door slid open.

"The movie," Greg said, indicating the small screen. "_It's a Wonderful Life_."

"Ah!" Henry said as the elevator doors slid closed.

%%% &&& %%% &&&

He didn't bother with the lights when he entered the condo; he didn't need them when he was alone. Hanging his jacket in the closet he moved across to the window.

The small, live spruce that he had purchased sat in its tub on the balcony. The wooden trunks containing his collection of ornaments sat beside the coffee table in the living room. _I don't think that I have the strength to open the ornaments tonight,_ he thought to himself, _I'll wait until tomorrow evening_.

He crossed to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the cupboard. Twisting off the cap he allowed the cool liquid to roll around his mouth and then down his throat. Carrying it with him he crossed to his worktable; the drawings laid out there couldn't capture his interest for more than a few minutes.

He prowled the condo restlessly.

Eventually he was drawn to the wooden trunks by his coffee table. He hefted one of the trunks into his arms and carried it to the chest of drawers in his sanctum.

Kneeling on the floor he opened the latches on the trunk and lifted the lid. Removing a double handful of the shredded paper excelsior, he came across the first figurine.

He unwrapped the tissue and his fingers traveled lovingly over the smooth, aged carving, the wooden figure of Joseph, the carpenter, patient and steadfast; next Gaspar, with his gift; then a camel in exquisite detail down to the tassels on its blanket. His thumb rubbed over the remnant of the gold leaf that had decorated the piece.

Then Balthazar, an anonymous shepherd boy, a small herd of curly haired sheep, the ox and the ass, all rendered with the artist's chisels and gouges, originally blond and painted beech wood, now darkened with age and handling to a deep and umber brown. Each he laid aside on the carpet while he lifted another and then another from the packing.

His hands gently un-wrapped the Holy Virgin, the faded blue of her cloak still clinging to the grain lines of the wood. And finally, the small manger in which the infant Messiah reclined. From the bottom of the trunk he lifted out the wooden stable. He set it on the dresser top and began arranging the figures until he had laid out the traditional tableau. He fetched two tall pillar candles and placed them on either side of the crèche. Striking a match to the wicks, he allowed a soft and golden glow to fill the area.

Half an hour before dawn, his prayers completed, he prepared for the day.

Once he was lying in bed, secure, and his arms behind his head, propped on the pillows, he gazed across at the carving of the Messiah's birth.

As his eyes grew heavy and he began to struggle for breath, he lowered his arms to his sides and focused on the smooth planes of the Virgin's face as she gazed down on her infant son.

%%% &&& %%% &&& %%%

The wreath was composed of fragrant greenery studded with fruit and nuts and spice. A bronze toned taffeta ribbon swirled through-out and hung in graceful curls from the bottom.

Henry smiled. _How like Bettie,_ he thought, _everyday items elevated to a higher usage. _He raised his hand and rapped sharply on the dark wood of her door.

He held the huge spray of red and white gladioli in the crook of his elbow; wrapped in candy cane stripped cellophane, they made a beautiful seasonal presentation. Henry knew well that the long floral spikes of the 'glads,' as Bettie called them, were one of her favorites. _In the language of flowers, the gladiolus represents "strength of character,"_ he thought. _How appropriate; Bettie is one of the strongest, and most upright people I have ever met._

"Henry dear," she said as she opened to door. "How beautiful, my favorites, and at this time of year. You really are too good to me," she said as she pressed her lips to his cool cheek.

"That…is an impossibility Bettie," he said gallantly as she stepped aside to allow him to pass.

"I am all ready to go Henry, but I will want to put these into some water first, perhaps in that exquisite Waterford crystal vase that you gave me on my birthday. Am I beginning to see a pattern here?" she asked.

Henry's shoulders lifted slightly and his smile was dazzling as she took the flowers from his arms.

"It makes me happy to gift you Bettie," he said. She reached a hand to pat his cheek gently. "I know that Henry," she said. And then she chuckled and continued, "It makes me happy as well!"

She moved towards the kitchen and said over her shoulder, "I'll only be a few moments Henry," and then she was out of sight.

Henry walked slowly around the living room, _so familiar, so many memories, so many happy times. When I first met James and Bettie, when I was forced to trust them with my secret, I sensed even then what a sanctuary these walls would become._

_Bettie always did do the most beautiful trees, _he thought as he looked at the twinkling lights and the collection of handcrafted and distinctive ornaments_. James always insisted that the tree be set up in front of the window, so that he could see it on his way up the walk. I remember how Bettie would be sure it was lit when he arrived home. _His lips bowed at the memory.

He had knelt to place the wrapped gift he had brought with him under the small tree's branches.

"We'll wait to open them on Christmas shall we?" Bettie said as she carried in the vase of gladioli and settled it on the flat top of the dining room buffet. The brilliant color of the flowers, the sparkling cut crystal of the vase, and the dark wood of the furniture looked exactly as Henry had imagined.

"Of course," he replied. _That shade of blue will be beautiful on Bettie_, he thought as he pictured the delicate cashmere wrap in the flat box_, and the silver of the Celtic brooch will be perfect at the shoulder, perhaps she will wear it when we attend '_Carmine'_ in February._

_Vicki would never allow me to do this for her,_ he thought as he held Bettie's coat while she shrugged into the sleeves. _Why can she not understand how much I enjoy these little displays of my regard? When I hold the door, or her coat, or take her arm where the way is rough, she thinks I am belittling her, when in fact I am revering her._

Betty picked up the bouquet of roses from the hall table and Henry opened the door. "Shall we?" he asked as she preceded him out the door.

The cemetery was empty, though the gates stood open until 9:00PM. The lights of Henry's car swept golden over the white snow-covered ground. Here and there along the drive old fashioned armed lampposts cast circles of light on the ground.

The way was well known to Henry; he and Bettie visited James's graveside every year at this time. They came to lay flowers and to remember: Henry, his friend and Bettie, the love of her life.

Slipping the car into park, Henry exited and then came around to open Bettie's door, handing her out of the vehicle. He reached into the back seat and handed the roses to Bettie, and then extracted his own bouquet of red tinged star gazer lilies.

There was no conversation between them as they crossed to the marble memorial that marked James's grave. There was no need for conversation; they shared so many memories of the man who slept below the snow. They laid their bouquets at the base of the stone and then stood arm in arm, silent and lost in their own thoughts.

So many memories…so many that swirled and collided under the vault of the heavens…

&&& %%% &&& %%%

"I knew you would be too frightened to go in," Mary said in a hissing whisper, her breath hanging in the cold air.

"I'm not frightened," Harry said stoutly, "There's nothing to be frightened of is there, Henry?"

Nine year old Henry Fitzroy pulled the fur lined cloak closer around him. _Standing outside a chapel graveyard at midnight, to sneak in and see the open graves dug for tomorrow's hangings? Yes it's damn frightening if you ask me,_ Henry thought but what he said was, "No Harry, there's nothing. If Mary wants to see them, then we should go in."

Mary turned her face towards Henry and smiled sweetly, her cheek rosy and her eyes sparkling in the lantern light. Henry's heart grew curiously tight as she said, "You're so brave Henry."

"You're so brave Henry. You're so brave Henry," Harry repeated in a falsetto, "I think that I am going to be sick. I'll tell you what I am afraid of. If the servants notice that we are missing and raise the alarm, and father finds out we brought you out here, Mary."

"He won't find out," Henry said quickly, "If we are going to do this then let's go." He moved forward to push the gate of the church yard open.

Henry slipped through and then Mary, who reached out and took Henry's hand; last was Harry, holding the lantern close to the ground to guide their steps.

The three cloaked figures moved through the dark church yard. Ahead they could see, dark against the snow, three rectangular graves waiting to receive the bodies of the poachers to be hanged on the morrow.

"Let's look down inside," Mary said. "I want to imagine what it would be like to…"

"What a strange girl you are," Harry grumbled at his sister_. I don't want to go anywhere near those gaping dark holes._

Mary looked coyly up to Henry's face, "You don't think I'm strange do you Henry?" she asked.

"Why no, of course I don't Mary. I rather want to see them myself. Come on Harry," he said, grabbing Harry's arm and stepping carefully up to the edge of the nearest grave. The earth under foot was hard, the mud of the daytime frozen rumpled in the chill of the dark. It smudged and marred the surrounding snow.

"See, it's really nothing but a big hole," Henry said as he and Harry stood side by side at the edge.

Harry turned to Mary and held out his hand, "Come and look Mary," he said and Mary started forward, in her eagerness jostling Henry, who overbalanced on the frozen dirt and slipped over the edge into the grave, landing heavily on his hands and knees.

"Oh no! Richmond, are you all right?" Harry called as he bent to see his friend climbing to his feet. He kneeled at the edge and extended his hand down to Henry who looked up wild-eyed. "Give me your hand Henry…"

A completely self satisfied grin graced Mary's face as she placed her foot on her brother's backside and shoved.

He landed hard on top of Richmond and when they had finally managed to untangle themselves and climb to their feet, they looked up to see Mary's head and shoulders outlined in the moonlight.

"I am sure, Gentlemen," she said archly, that the next time that it occurs to you to secret Cook's fish in my clothes chest with my gowns, you will remember this evening."

She disappeared and Henry and Harry heard her voice drift back on the breeze. "Once I am home and in my bedclothes I will raise the alarm. I'll tell Papa that you told me…."

%%% &&& %%% &&&&

"Are you alright Henry?" Betty said as she touched his cheek, "You look so far away.

"Yes Bettie, I was just remembering…well…it doesn't matter," he smiled down at her, "Are you ready?"

"Yes, let's go, I have a new blend of herbal tea at home Henry, just the thing to take the chill off."

Later when they were once again seated in Betty's living room and the fine china cup was held warm in the Vampire's palms and the hot liquid warm in his belly, they reminisced about their past. Henry could feel the hunger unfurling in his body; he would need to feed tonight, he knew.

"I miss James, more and more as time goes by Henry. I know he is waiting for me," Bettie said with a smile.

"I am sure he is Bettie, the two of you are meant to be together," Henry said quietly.

"Well we will be together soon enough…no…no…dear, there is nothing wrong with me," she said at Henry's sharp look.

At last, when Henry knew Bettie was fatigued and he had fetched his coat, they stood by the open door.

She reached up to cup his cheek and said, "Good night dear, thank you for…"

Henry caught her up in a tight embrace; he whispered in her ear, "Don't leave me Bettie, not yet. Please…stay…"


	4. Chapter 4

**H**enry had been waiting for over an hour outside of Vicki's apartment. The windows were dark and he could sense that she was nowhere in the vicinity. Of all of the heartbeats that he could discern, none was the one he longed to hear.

He was cold. Not that it mattered; the cold was uncomfortable, but it would not substantially harm him and even now the hunger was beginning to burn in him at any rate. He waited across the street in the shadows, watching. He drew back deeper with each set of headlights that came along the road, his attention sharpening and then relaxing as the vehicle passed.

He had just decided that he should leave to hunt, when the squeaking brakes of the taxi pulling to a halt across the street changed his mind.

He watched as they exited the car, the steam of the exhaust in a roiling cloud around their knees, as they stood side by side on the sidewalk. He watched as Celluci moved close beside her, lifting his hands to her arms. He watched as he bent to softly kiss her lips. She shivered visibly in the cold air and Mike opened his trench coat, pulling her to him and wrapping the coat around her. She raised her face as his rival bent to kiss her again.

Henry could have heard the words that passed between them, even from the shadows and across the intervening roadway; his hearing was acute enough to hear every nuance of their conversation, to gauge the reaction to their words in the beating of their hearts. Instead he chose to concentrate on the mechanical hum of the taxi's engine and the tuneless whistling of the driver as he waited. They were his and he owed them their privacy.

He could not shut out their scents, the warm and seductive scent that Vicki cast into the cold night air, like a gauntlet cast down to his vaunted control. The tendrils of the musk of the detective's arousal wound through the dark, and Henry knew that even now, Celluci pressed a growing hardness against the soft skin of Vicki's thigh.

His face ached with the effort he expended in keeping his appearance human, the effort he expended in pushing back the rising hunger that the vampire used to batter at him.

He knew now that tonight, whether Celluci got back into the taxi and drove off or not, he could not allow himself the luxury of her company. His control was too shredded by hunger and desire.

So he watched, and when the cab door slammed and the engine revved higher, when the machine bore his rival away, disappearing from sight in a flare of red tail lights, then the painful pressure on his heart eased, and he was able to turn away into the arms of the night.

Henry felt the vampire slip past him, as always, in the final second when he broke the surface of the skin. Try as he might, he could not maintain any amount of control on his nature, in the initial seconds of feeding; the first few, adrenalin laced, heated swallows were the vampire's due.

After nearly five hundred years, he could not, could not, _were I to be staked through the heart in that instant, or were the sun to climb into the sky,_ he thought, _still, the vampire would claim his due, even as oblivion took him._

He clutched the strong body closer, allowing the sustenance he needed to slip in a delicious, warming flow into his body. _It was right; it was right_. He knew that it was right that his prey bent helpless before his will. It was right that their own hearts pumped their life past his waiting lips, their life…manifest in his flesh. His world narrowed to the pause between each strong and fragrant burst of that rich, red potency, savored and then swallowed to drown the clamoring of the hunger inside.

When, at last he became aware again of his surroundings, when his consciousness expanded outwards, the vampire receded, and "Henry"…_was_…once more, then he was aware of the being that he held in his arms. Then and only then, was he able to balance that being's life against his own.

The length of the winter nights took their toll. He needed to feed, more frequently, more deeply, when less time was lost to the day.

Henry was deliberate in his selection of prey, choosing younger, stronger humans as the days waned into winter.

Tonight outside a twenty-four hour fitness center he had hunted. The windows with their gaily painted candy canes and presents were outlined by blinking colored Christmas lights and totally opaque with the humidity trapped inside the building. That he could not see inside did not matter to the vampire as he sat in his car, parked close to the door.

When he had first arrived he had sorted carefully through the thundering heartbeats that he could hear from inside the building until he had marked a single strong heart, beating quickly in effort.

He sat with eyes closed as he followed that heartbeat as it slowed to a strong rhythmic pulsing. At length he could hear that heart move closer and he opened his eyes to watch, as a well muscled twenty-something male pushed through the gym door and out into the night. Henry got out of the Jag, closing the door softly. He had the scent that belonged to that heartbeat now.

The male crossed the lot to a car parked at the perimeter and hefted his gym bag in one hand as he fished in his coat pocket for his keys with the other. Henry was behind him in a moment.

The vampire bled into the voice which captured his prey. The male stiffened in a brief resistance which was stifled by Henry's hand on his arm. "Open the back door and get in," he instructed, removing the gym bag from his hand.

The male, wide-eyed, obeyed, the fear scent spiking in an instinctive and irresistible invitation to the vampire. Henry opened the passenger-side door and tossed the gym bag onto the front seat.

Then he slid into the back seat beside his prey, closing the door carefully behind him. The enclosed space echoed with the pounding of the human's heart. The air grew thick with the ripe, sweet fragrance of the fear that was his homage.

He did not permit the male to speak; he wanted to hear nothing but the siren song of the pulse that pounded at the juncture of the muscled neck to sculpted shoulder.

"You will not resist," he whispered as he cupped a hand behind the male's neck, drawing him forward and across to expose his throat. He lowered his lips to the trembling flesh and the vampire slipped past…

When Henry was once more in his own car, he watched as the human male drove away. He smiled grimly to himself, _perhaps it is a little risky for me to hunt the gym that Celluci frequents, but the feeling of—is it irony?—well that is hard to resist._

The floor of the condo was littered with crinkled paper excelsior and rumpled tissue from the trunk. The small blue spruce stood in its foil wrapped tub on a mahogany round table. Henry had taken a page from Bettie's book, in that he had decided to position it against the window to the balcony. Of course this high up there was no one to see it, but the stars in the clear night sky made a beautiful backdrop.

He eschewed Christmas lights for his tree of memories; somehow a trailing twisted cord with an electrical plug hanging off the lower boughs just seemed… inappropriate.

He knew that in the bottom of the trunk were two dozen antique brass miniature candleholders, which he would add to the branches when the tree was completed.

As always he had festooned the tree with long lengths of crystal beads on silken thread and secured the silver filigreed star to the top. Then he began to place the decorations.

Each came one at a time from the trunk, carefully unwrapped from the protective tissue, considered with a smile and hung lovingly in place among the branches. Each was made by his own hand.

All depicted the faces of his memories. The oldest were more than two hundred years of age. It was then that the urge to capture these faces had come to him. By then he had been confident enough of his abilities to produce the miniatures.

The earliest were renderings in egg tempera on small hardwood disks, the full frontal view of a beloved face on one side and the profile on the other.

He had first attempted those he was still involved with, friends and lovers, now long gone to dust. There were a series of silverpoint renderings, tiny and in perfect detail, displayed in double-sided miniature silver frames, small ovals of canvas with visages captured in transparent oils in tiny wooden gilded frames, a number of bas relief bronze pieces slightly larger than a silver dollar.

There were several encased in the traditional locket shaped frames, suspended by silken ribbons. Over the year's passage, his ancient memory had provided him the detailed images all the way back to his days as a human.

There were perhaps sixty in all. Sixty faces beloved and lost. All hung on his tree of memories. Their faces looked out at him, his father the King, robust and handsome, his Mother, Elizabeth, Surrey, Mary, even his childhood nurse and Martin the groom.

He placed a tiny jewel-toned watercolor of Ann Chadwick amid the branches next to a black and white ink rendering of James Sagara's face. All were smiling in memory.

The next he unwrapped was Christina, the raven haired beauty…

"Pay attention Princeling!" she said harshly as she laid a stinging slap on the cold plane of his cheek. His growl in response, echoed around the small stone chamber, though he dared not display his fangs in challenge.

She turned in a sweep of red burgundy skirts, and she slapped him again hard enough to throw his head to the side. He knew better than to try to avoid the blow, though it left him dizzy.

"I swear," she said lazily, regarding her manicured nails, "I sometimes wonder why I bothered with you at all, Bastard. I had higher hopes."

Henry clutched at the beast, holding it back, holding it down, though his muscles knotted at the effort, and his heart beat a slow and tortured tattoo beneath his ribs.

Though his eyes were slitted, he modulated his voice carefully as he said, "Forgive me, _my love_. The smell of blood so close at hand tempts me to indiscretion."

She glanced down to the long slice in her forearm, where the blood still sluggishly flowed, and then across to the human male who hung in shackles from the wall. With a delicate baring of her fangs, that passed for a smile, she asked him, "His or mine?"

"Yours my love, I know you will not permit me to…feed."

The scent of the human's fear was overpowering; it hung in the air around him, and the hunger writhed in his grasp.

She would not permit him human blood. She bound him ever tighter to her, sustaining him on her own blood, just enough to keep the hunger at an almost bearable level. He was always, always hungry, and he spent most of his waking hours attempting to master the urges that robbed him of rational thought.

She crossed to the human and lifted the lolling head; her fingers tight on his chin, she turned the face side to side, as she considered her prey. Turning to Henry she said, "A pretty thing is he not?" She ran her hand over the naked chest and the human began a low moaning at her touch.

Henry could tell by the bruises and the heavy scent of blood in the room that Christina had already had her…fun.

Afterwards, as he fought off his panic, alone in the cramped dark prison in which she had confined him, he could not say what it was that suddenly hardened in her, but the voice she used next was one of compulsion. He could not help but obey.

"Come here," she said in a cold command. When Henry had crossed to her she took him by the arm.

"I can feel the hunger in you; you know that don't you? You are made from my blood, Henry. I made you. I made you."

She smiled without warmth or humor and shook him slightly to emphasize her repeated words. "You are a Bastard, no more. I acknowledge you as mine, my chylde, my creation, my heir."

Henry shrank from her words and in his thudding heart, all that remained of the human by-blow of the King cringed away from, her declaration, even as the beast surged to the limit of his control.

She pushed his body forward until he was resting against the vibrating flesh of their human prisoner. Henry could feel the tremors flickering over the human's skin. He could hear the heart, beating like a trip hammer against his chest. She held him there with one hand between his shoulder blades and she took Henry's own chin in her bruising fingers, turning his face to hers.

"Show me," she said. "Show me what you are."

He felt his fangs extend and his eyes darken to jet, as hard and as glittering as his Sire's.

She placed his lips against the human's shoulder. The compulsion was so heavy in her voice that it should have been a visible force in the room.

"Bite him here," she said.

He could not resist, his fangs sliding effortlessly into place and the flood of warm sweet blood passed his lips, his own groan as loud as the human's.

Her hand was still on his chin; she cupped her palm around his throat as he drank his first human blood, and she felt it pass down his throat as he swallowed. Physically she pulled him away, his fangs tearing out and leaving a gaping wound in the human's shoulder, which fountained blood.

She maneuvered his face against the human's muscled chest.

"Bite here," she said.

A few swallows and she moved him on to the forearm, then the thigh. The human was keening now, and Henry's shirt was drenched in blood.

When she at last released Henry from her compulsion, she shook him like a doll in her grasp then cast him stumbling away from her. The human hung, unconscious, in his chains, his heart stuttering in his chest and his body painted crimson with his own blood flowing from a dozen or more bites.

"Are you satisfied, Vampire?" she asked him, with a leer.

Henry looked at her from beneath his lashes. "Are you?" he replied.

Her face clouded with anger as she said to his horror, "Tonight, you will go to ground, until you learn to control your tongue and the next time, we will take a woman."

He watched with unblinking black eyes as she broke the human's neck with a sudden jerk.

The vampire's eyes slowly closed and when they opened again he was looking at a small potted spruce with branches festooned with crystals and the faces of his past.

He had been drawn from memory by the approach of the dawn at his back.

His right hand groped at the silver cross that hung at his throat and his lips moved in a breathless prayer. His left hand lifted the portrait of Mary Howard's saucy face from the branches, and he lurched to his feet.

Retrieving the remote control, he lowered the shades, crossing to the doors of his sanctum, the tiny portrait held against his heart.


	5. Chapter 5

"**W**ell Vicki, really, if Mike is away in Aspen with his brother, then why on earth didn't you bring that Henry Fitz out here with you to meet me?" Marjory asked. "I mean, he was gracious enough to send me this beautiful vase of tulips; the least you could have done was to offer him an invitation for Christmas Eve."

"It's Fitzroy," Vicki muttered, "and he works with me."

"What was that dear? You know you really shouldn't mumble Victoria," Marjory said as she leaned far in behind the tree in an effort to plug the light cord into the wall socket.

"It's FITZROY, mom, Henry FITZROY," Vicki said loudly as Marjory straightened, brushing her hands in front of her apron.

"You don't need to shout Victoria, I'm not deaf you know." Marjorie frowned slightly and then brightened. "There, doesn't the tree look lovely this year? I have all the old decorations on it; you know, the ones you made in grade school. Did you say he works for you dear?"

_Good thing I'm a detective,_ Vicki thought, _if I wasn't I would never be able to follow my mother's conversation._ "Henry works _with_ me Mom, not _for_ me, kind of like a partner," she said and then regretted it almost immediately when she saw a familiar gleam in her mother's eye.

"Oh, well that's all right then," Marjory replied, "I mean I thought it was a bit forward of an employee to be sending your mother flowers saying how much he wanted to meet me, but if he's your partner…"

Vicki bounced to her feet and strode over to the arrangement on the sideboard. She had to admit, the clear, round, ball-shaped vase, half full of shiny glass pebbles and topped with a huge explosion of upright red, and white tulips was gorgeous, just the sort of thing she could see Henry selecting. She picked up the beautiful Victorian style card that had accompanied them and read the message written inside in Henry's flowing cursive hand:

_Mrs. Nelson, _

_Please accept this token of my regard, at this Blessed _

_Season. I am looking forward most anxiously to meeting_

_Victoria's mother. You must be very proud. _

_Yours Faithfully, _

_Henry Fitzroy _

Vicki held the card for a moment and then set it back on the sideboard. _That's great, that's just fucking great Henry. Now she is never going to let up until she meets you,_ Vicki thought.

_I wonder if it is still considered murder if you strangle someone who is already dead?_

"Well, you know Vicki, I always liked the idea of you and Mike as a couple, even though he is, _Italian,_" Marjory said the word, "Italian," in a whisper, as if she was telling Vicki something that she might not already know. "And of course, he's _Catholic_ as well," again the confiding whisper of the word Catholic. "But all that aside, I did think he would be an excellent catch, dear, and he is quite handsome in a rugged sort of a way. What about this Henry? What are his prospects? He certainly has excellent old fashioned manners."

_Yeah right, those old fashioned manners, where were they when he stood me up last night? I told him that he could come by later,_ Vicki thought. _I know it hurt Mike's feelings when I didn't invite him in, but…Of course the phone message was, was, well, Henry has said it himself, "I _am_ a sexual advance!"_

"You said something about his novels?" Marjory prompted.

Vicki looked at her watch, 3:56 PM Christmas Eve afternoon. _I don't think that I'm going to make it…_

_&&&& %%%%% &&&&&_

The condo was in complete darkness with the shutters closed, even though outside, the watery winter sun still shone down. The vampire slumbered on as the phone rang once, twice and then went to the machine.

_You have reached the number for Henry Fitzroy. Please leave a complete message after the tone. Do not assume that I know who you are, or that I have your telephone number._

There a short tone and a moment of silence followed by the sound of a throat clearing.

"Hey, Fang B…uh Fitzroy, Celluci here, just wanted to call and say thanks for that fine bottle of Glenmorangie that you had delivered to our room here in Aspen. Either Vicki is getting a little chatty or your detecting skills are improving, if you found out not only where we are staying but our room number as well. Either way, thanks again. Oh and, Merry Christmas." There was the sound of the line disconnecting and the condo returned to the silence and the dark except for the blinking red light of the message machine.

%%%% &&&&& %%%%

Her heart did a little flip in her chest, when she saw the caller ID, even though she had been expecting his call.

"Coreen? It's Henry here, just checking to see if everything is in order and you will be ready at six?" the vampire's voice inquired.

"Oh, hey, Henry," she said, hating the little squeak that emerged at the end of his name, "Yeah I'm already to go. Though you know, I could just take a taxi to the bus station."

Henry smiled he loved the slight little squeak that Coreen's voice developed when she was excited. It was…endearing. "I wouldn't hear of it Coreen; besides I want to bring you your Christmas gift. Will it be all right if I arrive a little earlier?"

"Yes, yes of course we can have a dri…" there was an awkward pause and then she soldiered bravely on, "drink."

"That would be wonderful," Henry continued smoothly, "I'll be there at say, 5:15?"

"Okay, Henry, I'll see you then. Bye," Coreen said as she eyed her apartment. Tiny but tidy, the window to the street rimmed with colored lights. There was no tree, but she did have a green pine wreath on the dining room table and a grouping of candles. The air still held the fresh scent of the circle of fresh pine, which triggered the memories of childhood and home.

The small, blue, wrapped package of Henry's gift sat on the tabletop. _I hope he likes it,_ she thought, _I mean what does a vampire want after he's been alive for five hundred years? Come by for a drink Henry, what were you thinking Coreen…come by for a drink?_ Her hand travelled to her throat and she forced it down, _This is Henry; this is my Henry. Everything is normal; everything is good. It's just like when he drops by the office…Not!_

At 5:10 PM the buzzer at her door sounded and when she opened it Henry stood there smiling, a large, rectangular, flat present under his arm.

_Why-oh-why does he have to look so absolutely delectable?_ she thought as she stuttered her hellos.

Grinning, Henry leaned forward to place a quick kiss on her cheek. "Happy Christmas, Coreen. Are you going to invite me in?"

"I didn't think that that legend was true, that a vampire can't enter your home unless…" she began doubtfully.

"It's not," Henry said as, in illustration, he stepped over the threshold. I was just being…polite."

"Oh…oh, come on in. It's not fancy but it's home," she said as she stood aside to let him pass.

"Give me your coat." As she hung his jacket in the hall closet she watched him walk into her small living room. _Do not stare at his ass, do not stare at his…Coreen!_

"I made a pot of peppermint tea, will that be all right?" she asked as she followed him.

"Sounds wonderful," he said, looking up from where he was inspecting her bookshelves and smiling, "You have rather eclectic tastes in reading materials."

"Oh that's just a few," she said as she perched on the edge of her sofa. "I have boxes and boxes in storage here and at my parent's house. Right now I am on bit of a poetry kick."

"Really, who is your favorite?" he asked.

"You'll laugh," she said as she rolled her kohl-lined eyes.

"I promise I won't," he said, though his eyes already crinkled at the corners as he held up a hand in an, _I swear_, gesture. _Too bad I am not more familiar with the local poetry community; it's probably a leading edge, up and coming Goth poet…_

Coreen started towards the kitchenette to fetch the tea and over her shoulder she replied, "William Butler Yeats." The challenge in her voice was plain.

"He's one of mine too," Henry said as he raised his brows, "Not at all what I was expecting; you surprise me," he said and then quoted as he followed her to the kitchen:

_Come away, O human child! _

_To the waters and the wild _

_With a fairy, hand in hand, _

_For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. _

"I love that one," she said as she poured two steaming mugs, the clean smell of peppermint rising to fill the tiny space.

"'The Stolen Child,'" Coreen said as she handed him the cup, "Do you want honey?"

He shook his head _no_ as he leaned on the counter. "I'm surprised that there is no gigantic tree here in your apartment."

"Oh, there is a huge one at my parents, you can be sure," she said as she stirred a generous amount of honey into her cup. "It seemed a shame to have another here when I knew I was going home for Christmas, especially when we had that big one at the office." _Now that's a sight I won't forget soon, _she thought, _the first Duke of Richmond covered in pine needles at the tree lot outside the IGA. _"Let's go back to the living room Henry; I want to give you your Christmas gift before we leave."

When they were seated on the sofa, Henry handed Coreen the package he had brought with him. From its dimensions and weight she suspected it was a piece of clothing, but when she had torn away the wrappings and lifted the lid of the box, she folded back the tissue to find a flat illustration nestled within.

"It's one of the story boards for my next novel, in the _Warrior_ series," Henry said into the silence.

Coreen's fingers hovered just over the meticulously inked surface. She looked up, her eyes moist. "It's me," she said wonderingly, "This is me."

Henry nodded, and brought the tea to his lips, taking a strongly scented, warm mouthful, that tasted like…like nothing, though he needed all his vampire speed to set it safely on the tabletop before Coreen was in his arms.

"I love, it Henry. I just, I don't know what to say," she said as she hugged him tightly. "I am not sure that I am a warrior though," the slight girl admitted.

"Oh Coreen," he said into her hair, "There are many kinds of battles to be fought. You are a warrior, little sister, of this I am sure."

"Now open yours," she urged as they broke apart and she handed him the package, "before I lose my nerve." She watched, on the edge of her seat, as he slid the ribbon off the small, thin package.

"Lose your nerve?" he questioned as he lifted the lid from the white rectangular box. He lifted a small, hand-bound leather book, and looked at her inquiringly.

She drew in a long breath, "You know I said I was on a 'poetry kick' right?"

Henry nodded.

"Well I wanted…I mean I knew, because you write yourself that…that you would understand…"

Sudden realization bloomed in the vampire's eyes. "Your poems?" he asked.

Coreen nodded, "Ten of them bound in a little book for…you. No one else has seen any of them, no one else knows, that I…"

It was Henry's turn to lean forward to draw Coreen, trembling, into his arms. "Thank you Coreen, I am honored that you would trust me with these," he said, holding the slim volume in his hand. "I will read them on Christmas, when I have the time to appreciate them properly."

"Good, so you…Well, we should probably be leaving soon. It's not that far to Barrie, but the buses may be crowded," Coreen said in relief.

When they were in their coats, Henry slipped the small book into his breast pocket, smiling and patting it with his palm. "Thank you for the wonderful gift Coreen," he said as he picked up one of the shopping bags of gaily-wrapped parcels that Coreen was taking home.

Waiting at the top of the stairs until she had locked her door, he motioned her to proceed him down the stair.

%%%% &&&&& %%%% &&&&

Coreen waved to him as the Greyhound pulled out of the station, shrouded in a cloud of diesel exhaust, and he lifted his hand in return.

He made his way out of the brightly lit interior of the station into the chill of the evening air.

"Spare change, mister?" a female voice said to his right. He turned to see a young girl with a thin summer-weight coat wrapped around her. Her legs were bare and chapped red with cold and her feet bare inside of canvas running shoes. _She looks frozen,_ he thought. He went immediately to her and her eyes lighted as she held out her hand.

"You will come inside with me now," the vampire said, allowing a thread of compulsion to enter his voice.

"Hey, what kind of a girl do you think I am?" she frowned at Henry who raised a brow in surprise at her resistance.

"I think that you are the kind of girl who is half frozen and could use a hot drink and perhaps something to eat, in the snack bar," he said. As he took her by the arm, he could feel the birdlike thinness of her bones through the fabric. He had to use more compulsion than he had thought would be necessary. "I mean you no harm, don't be afraid."

Still she resisted. "The security guard just kicked me out of the station half an hour ago, he said I was loitering."

"Well then we will be loitering together and the security guard will just have to deal with me," he said as she finally relented and allowed him to shepherd her in through the doors of the station.

"Don't you want anything to eat?" she asked him when they were seated and she was halfway through her cheeseburger and fries and large hot chocolate.

He smiled and shook his head, "No, I'll eat later. I am fasting now before church." He thought, _she might be perhaps seventeen,_ _a child. What is she doing out here alone?_

"Yeah, church," she said, "they are open at midnight tonight right?" Henry nodded.

"If I don't panhandle another twenty dollars I won't be able to get the ticket, so maybe I'll head over to the church. Sometimes they have snacks, or I could go to the _Sally Ann_ Shelter, if there is room.

"You won't be able to get a ticket for where?" Henry watched her feed, popping french-fry after french-fry into her mouth as she talked.

"Thunderbay, that's where I'm from. There's a bus leaves at 8:15 tonight. If I was on it, I could be home at my mom's for Christmas dinner. She finally ditched the fucking old prick last fall; I guess she couldn't stand him beating the shit out of her any more. It's why I left in the first place; I just couldn't stand one more beating from my...from my ... _Dad_."

She crumpled up the wrapper from the cheese burger and dropped it in the empty cup. "I got this crazy idea that maybe I could go home and mom and me might make a, you know, new start."

"How long ago did you leave home?" he asked her softly.

"Almost nine months ago now. Started out OK; I was stayin' with some friends in the Beaches, but they got evicted so…" she shrugged her shoulders eloquently.

"Come with me," he said, pushing his chair back and standing abruptly. She stood a little uncertainly, and he took her by the arm. He walked them quickly to the ticket booth and purchased a one-way ticket to Thunderbay for the 8:15 PM bus. He handed the ticket to her and then as she began to sputter her thanks, he marched her across to the ATM, where he withdrew five hundred dollars.

He put the cash in his coat pocket. Then he walked her to the line of people waiting to board the 8:15 bus which had just begun loading luggage. "Take off your coat," he said, as he worked at his own buttons. Once she had removed the threadbare coat and folded it into her bag, he reached into his inside pocket and removed the slim volume of poems that Coreen had presented him. He retrieved his wallet and car keys and then took off the cashmere woolen coat he was wearing and held it out while she shrugged into it. He wrapped his black wool scarf around her throat, while she reached into the pocket and pulled out a handful of twenties, looking at him wide-eyed.

"Don't you want your money?" she asked him.

"It's _your_ money," he said, shaking his head.

"But I don't even know your name?" she said suddenly, as the line started to move as people began to board the Greyhound.

"It's Henry," he said, smiling and making little shooing motions towards the bus.

"I…I'm Katherine," she said, pointing at herself, and backing up with the line.

"Go home Katherine," he said, "Go home, while you still can."

As she climbed the steps of the bus she looked back at the handsome, longhaired young man standing in his shirt sleeves, his blue eyes squinted against the overhead lights that caught and glinted off the silver cross on his chest.

"Merry Christmas Henry," she called as the door closed.

&&&& %%%% &&&& %%%%

He was at peace; the serenity of the night and the ritual of the Mass always left him in a calm and rapturous state of grace. As he closed the door of the condo behind him, he was careful to switch on the low wattage lighting in the condo. He tossed his keys and gloves onto the table at the entrance and crossed to his bedroom.

He emerged a few minutes later clad in denim and a long sleeve t-shirt, having changed from the suit and tie he had donned for Midnight Mass.

He went to the DVD player and after a moment the soft and lulling sound of a string quartet whispered around the edge of the space. Crossing to the glass door to the balcony he pushed it open and stepped past his tree of memories out into the night air once more.

At this height, even to his ears the sounds of the city below were curiously muted. With his hands on the railing he stared down to the streets far below. In the early morning hours of Christmas Day, the streets still held some traffic; soon enough it would quiet he knew. Then the view would be of the pattern of the streets laid out below him, lit by thousands of street lamps and stretching away sparkling and glittering into the distance. The downtown towers thrust against the sky, lit, but empty of their workers for the night. Beyond them the black void of the waters of the lake. The masses of homes and apartments spread out across the landscape, he knew that within, most of the residents were already dreaming.

How different, how altered was the landscape of his territory from the landscape of his youth, the landscape of his memories. He spared a glance back to the small tree behind him and the faces portrayed there. Yes, the landscape below him altered and changes and evolved, yet when he lifted his eyes to the velvet sky above him, he saw the unchanging contra of the stars in the circles of their colored nimbi, swinging by as the world spun slowly though the steps of the heavenly dance.

At length he grew chilled; he left the balcony when his thoughts returned to the warmth of his sanctuary. As he passed the tree, he paused briefly and ran his fingers over Coreen's small book of poetry that he had laid on the table next to the wrapped gifts from Bettie and from Vicki.

It was his practice to open his gifts when he woke on Christmas evening. He had made an exception to his routine, bowing before Coreen's enthusiasm earlier this evening. But now he returned to his ritual, deciding that the poems she had written would be a gift to be savored tomorrow evening.

He picked up the old leather bound edition which sat waiting on his coffee table, and settled on the leather of the sofa. _There is peace and promise in ritual,_ he thought, glancing across at the tree sparkling against the night sky.

He opened the worn cover and, flipping to the first chapter, read:

_Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail…_

%%% &&&& %%%% &&&&

The streets of New York City, in February of 1842 were cold and wet and noisome. From his carriage 'Boz' watched the scenes of winter cold and poverty played out. He saw the starveling children of the factory workers, many of whom worked in factories themselves. The household slaves rushing about on their errands, it all made his stomach churn—American commerce fertilized into lush growth with human misery. Added to the unpalatable mix was the boisterous colonialism of many of those he had met on this trip to America; their roughly accented voices and their filthy tobacco wore on his nerves.

Yet the Americans lauded him, they loved his work and attended his readings in droves. This very night he was on his way to a reception in his honor at the Park Theatre; no, the Americans could just not get enough of Charles Dickens.

Not yet thirty years of age, he felt he had come a great distance from his youth spent in servitude in that factory, while his father and family were in debtor's prison. That is why he identified with the grimy faces of the children of the poor, why he knew what it was not to be free. His pen had freed him, his words had freed him.

The reception was a wonderful glittering affair; all the best of New York Society were in attendance and the drink and food flowed freely.

Charles was in conversation with a wealthy industrialist when he heard loud voices that rose in argument. Along with his entourage, he crossed the room to see two young men held apart from each other by their companions.

A young thin blond man who was held back by his arms and his friend's hands on his shoulders shouted, "Slave holder, you are a boorish usurer who trades on human suffering…"

"Benson you are a filthy abolitionist, runaway harborer!" His red haired opponent on the other side of the circle of onlookers was similarly restrained by an older version of himself, most likely a brother, with his arms locked around his waist.

Charles noted a smaller handsome young man with his long hair tied back in a short queue, whispering urgently in the blond's ear. He watched as Benson's eyes calmed and the friend grasped the young man by the arm.

"You're right Richmond, they will never change, let's get out of here," he said in a loud voice. It seemed like the disturbance was over and Charles was turning away when he saw a sudden movement as the redhead drew a pistol from his vest. When he cocked the trigger, Richmond's head swung round to look over his shoulder to see the barrel aimed at Benson's retreating back.

Charles drew breath to shout a warning even as Richmond pushed Benson roughly aside and the sound of the shot rang out. There were loud screams from the ladies present and as Charles watched with unbelieving eyes, Richmond sank slowly to his knees, his hands clutched just below his ribs, and bright red blood oozing between his fingers.

Benson had him by the shoulders and was lowering him to the floor.

"Oh my God, Richmond, why in God's name did you…Henry, Henry, hang on. Someone, someone call a physician…Henry…"

The red headed gunman was dragged away by his companions as a doctor rushed up to the fallen young man. Charles moved closer, drawn by his need to witness the effects of this sudden and senseless violence.

The doctor was shaking his head, as he closed the young man's coat over the wound, and Charles was stunned to silence as the blue eyes met his, the weight of the young man's anguish clear in his gaze. He could not, could not look away as life and awareness faded from those eyes. The chest shuddered to a halt and the doctor declared, "He is dead."

A few minutes later they had removed the young man's limp body to a room behind the theater as a messenger was dispatched to the undertakers. Benson was weeping unashamedly, and was led away by his friends. Exclaiming to the room in general, "It should have been me, he saved my life."

Charles had lost the appetite for the reception and as soon as was decently possible he elected to return to his hotel. The direct gaze of young Richmond as his life bled out of him, haunted his thoughts, all the way back in the carriage.

There was no respite when he reached the hotel, as the lobby was all abuzz with the news that the young man Henry Richmond, who had been shot dead this evening, had been a guest at the hotel; in fact he had been in a small suite just down the hall from Charles.

Later as he lay in his bed, he could not sleep; he wondered, _Who_ _was Richmond? What kind of a man throws himself in harm's way to save a friend? _Finally, his curiosity got the better of him and he rose, donned his dressing gown over his nightshirt and went out to the door of his room. He was thinking that perhaps he could…when he saw a longhaired young man slip through a door at the end of the hall.

_It can't be_, he thought as he quickly made his way down the hall to the door. He turned the handle and pushed it open. As he entered he heard a voice emerge from the dark.

"Won't you come in Mr. Dickens?"

Charles was afraid, very afraid, but he couldn't seem to stop himself and he came further into the room.

"Please close the door," the voice continued "I'll turn up the lamp for you."

A moment later, in the golden glow of the lamp, Charles Dickens came face to face with a dead man.

"Are you a ghost?" he asked the bloody vision of Henry Richmond.

The young man was stripping off his bloody shirt, "No, Mr. Dickens, I am not a ghost; I am as alive as you are. I am in a particular hurry though." He rifled through a bureau drawer and pulled out another shirt. As he turned with it in his hand, Charles could see the smooth unblemished skin of his abdomen.

His brow puckered, "But you were shot. I saw it with my own eyes; I watched you die. I watched it," Charles said as the images came flooding back.

"Fine," the young man replied as he buttoned the shirt, "Believe what you will, it's not as if I don't die at dawn anyways." He began to load a few items into a small valise, as Charles watched.

"What are you," Charles asked him, "if you are not a spirit returned from the grave?"

Henry thought of the undertaker who slumbered, memories erased, short a substantial amount of blood, but none the worse for wear. He wouldn't remember the terror instilled by the first anguished gasp of breath the vampire took as he came back to himself. He wouldn't remember the terror that called Henry to him to feed in a blur of black eyes and fangs. He thought of his associates in the Underground Railroad, who now mourned him as dead; it was time to move on. He was not ready, but his very public 'demise' simply raised too many questions.

"I am old Mr. Dickens, older than you can imagine. I am…a ghost living alongside the world of men. In the past, I was a ghost, in the present I am a ghost, and in the future I will be a ghost."

The young man shrugged into a jacket, wincing slightly, and then took a quick look around the room. He picked up the valise from the bed.

"I am afraid I must be going; I need to be in a safe place before the sun rises. It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Dickens. You are a talented man and I admire your work greatly."

Young Richmond, his eyes suddenly as black as the night, moved close to Charles, who managed to hold his ground as the 'spirit' whispered in his ear.

"You didn't see me tonight, Charles; you dreamed about me while you lay in your bed. You dreamed of a ghost, go back to your suite and back to bed."

At dawn when Charles woke in his bed, he sat bolt upright. _What a nightmare,_ he thought. He rose and went to the desk, flipped open his journal and, dipping the pen, wrote:

_Ghost of the past_

_Ghost of the present_

_Ghost of the future…_

%%%% &&&& %%%% &&&&

Henry drew in a long breath as his sanctuary in Toronto's skyline re-affirmed itself in his awareness. Charles Dickens was long dead, but his words lived on in the printed pages of the volume beneath his hands. He lowered his eyes to read.

&&&& %%%% &&&& %%%%

*** Tulips in the Language of Flowers mean…"Want to meet"


	6. Chapter 6

**T**he sun was a brilliant, white light reflected off the snow of the street, and Vicki narrowed her eyes against the blazing intensity of the glare. She fished in her bag for the keys to the front door Henry's building, feeling around in the inside pocket until her fingers closed on the fob. It wasn't until she had unlocked the door and wedged a foot in the opening while she retrieved her shopping bags that Vicki could see the daytime security guard as he sat at his desk, in the lobby of Henry's building.

He was young, really young, tall and thin with a sort of coltish awkwardness, as he came to his feet when she cleared her throat loudly. His clean shaven face above the collar of his uniform had been arrested with a single minded focus on the phone he held in his hands. His thumbs were the only part of his body moving as he tapped out a message.

_What a curious mixture of officiousness and youth_ she thought as she took in the starched shirt and heard his voice break on the last word as he said "Oh, let me help you with those Ma'am."

Vicki didn't recognize him, and therefore she hoped that he wouldn't cause her too much trouble in getting into the building.

"I can manage" she said, "if you'll just get the elevator for me."

"Yes ma'am," he said, then paused and said. "I'm sorry ma'am but I'm new here and I need…"

_Fuck_, she thought but gave the number of Henry's condo and added amiably "Mrs. Henry Fitzroy" she began to struggle towards the elevator.

The indecision in the guards face was almost comical and just as she had hoped, he scanned the list quickly and as soon as his eyes touched the name Fitzroy, he rushed to the elevator to press the call button.

When Vicki was inside the elevator and had turned around she extended a finger with the rustling of the paper bags and pushed the button for Henry's floor.

"Merry Christmas Mrs. Fitzroy, the young guard said, as the door slip closed.

_Well that was easier than I thought, the last thing I wanted, was for him to call up to Henry's place and there be no answer. _

_Jeez, first Mom's old girlfriends dropped by and then the drive down from London in absolutely record speed, a complete lack of traffic on the 401, and now bypassing the infant security guard. I am obviously supposed to be with Henry on Christmas. Of course that means I'll be keeping company with a comatose vampire, for the next couple of hours. It can't be more than two o'clock so I will be able to do everything I need to before he wakes._

The doors of the elevators slid open and she made her way down the hall to Henry's door. Setting down the bags she carefully fit the keys into the locks, and then once she had opened the door she turned her attention to the alarm system which she had virtually forced Henry to install.

_Damn it_, she thought, _he hasn't even set it. What the hell is the sense of having…?_ She thought back to the argument they had had about the system. _I could see that he didn't like it much when I told him how helpless he was during the day if someone broke into the condo. Lord knows, stranger things have happened. And then that, _I know way, way more than you,_ look on his face when he pointed out that any thief was unlikely to kill someone that they thought was already dead. She had insisted and refused to see the logic of his second argument. Supposing the alarm goes off, and the emergency responders come and find me… in that state. How could I explain that away, when I wake…IF…I wake, instead of being immolated when they wheel my "body" out to an ambulance strapped to a gurney._

In the end, she felt she had won major points when he had agreed to have the system installed, including the time controlled lock-down of the shades on the windows. It had honestly not occurred to her that he simply might not use it.

Turning away from the alarm panel, she felt along the wall carefully for the light switch, the light from the open door fading quickly in the silken darkness of the condo. When her fingers had found the switch and she had the soft lights illuminating his space, she pulled the rattling shopping bags through the door and closed and locked it behind her.

She felt a sense of complete relief as the locks shot home. _It's like I have stepped away from my world into a totally different world. I have just barred the door against the brilliant sun of a Christmas afternoon, and entered a world where security is required until the dark resumes._

She stood still, looking at the closed doors of Henry's sanctum, just stood until the silence and stillness of the condo re-asserted itself. She closed her eyes and listened to the quiet and the "absence". Suddenly she needed to see Henry; she needed to know that he was, that he was…

She walked to the double doors of his bedroom and was paradoxically, relieved this time that they were unlocked, swinging open soundlessly to admit her to his sanctum. Vicki hit the switch on the wall, but there was no corresponding flood on brilliant light from an overhead fixture. Instead warm low light from the bedside lamps glowed, giving her just enough light to make out his sheet draped form on the bed.

_I have groused about the lighting often enough_ she thought. _I know he has adjusted it brighter for me out in the living room, even though he never mentioned it, but here in "his" place, he has kept it at a level that is comfortable for him. _Suddenly her grousing felt rather small minded.

She crossed to the bed and her heart contracted in her chest as she looked down on that youthful face.

He was curled on his side, one hand bent up to his chest, though his fingers were open and straight instead of cupped as one might expect. His eyes were closed and his face blank, devoid of any residual expression at all. His curls lay tumbled and tangled on the pillow, and his chin was tucked down protectively against the strong arch of his pale shoulder. There was a tiny jewelry like frame lying on the sheets in the crook of his elbow. _It must have fallen from his hand when the day took him_ Vicki thought.

She reached down, and her fingertips gently stroked his hair back from his forehead. There was no response. She lifted the tiny frame to examine it more closely. Her eyes narrowed, it was a miniature, an exquisite rendering of a woman. _Why had Henry been holding a picture of this woman when he…he went to rest?_ Vicki felt a flare of jealousy that caught her by surprise. _Henry isn't mine, he can be involved with whoever he wants _she thought quickly, _but the ache in her heart did not subside_.

She replaced the frame to its position on the sheets and as she turned away from the bed she saw on the bed side table several other tiny portraits. She recognized from her studies at university, the image of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, but the others male and female she could not place. Eventually she glanced back to the vampire and turned away to go back out to the living area, drawing the bedroom doors not quite closed behind her.

Ignoring her shopping bags for the moment she went into Henry's kitchen and plugging in the coffee maker, mechanically set about making a pot of coffee from the supplies that Henry always kept on hand for her. She remembered when she had questioned him about it he had waggled his brows suggestively and stepped completely inside her 'personal space' to whisper in her ear. "Well, we wouldn't want anyone to be…thirsty, would we?"

She had pushed him away to arms length both physically and emotionally and he had retreated with good grace. They both knew that he had not ceded the field. _That seems like such a long time ago_ she thought, _so much has happened in the intervening months._

She leaned on forearms against the immaculate dark granite of Henry's countertops, feeling the chill of the stone through the thin sleeves of her shirt. The air of complete and utter stillness mounted at her back as she watched the coffee dribble in a fragrant brown stream from the filter basket to the sparkling glass pot. The tiny splash of the drops as they fell into the center of the coffee sending out concentric rings drew her unfocused gaze, while her thoughts whirled and drifted about centered on the absence of the man she had come here to…to…

_Jeez Nelson, get a fucking grip_ she shook herself and taking a mug from the cupboard poured herself a cup of black coffee. Bringing it to her lips she inhaled the aroma and closed her eyes in a moment of utter enjoyment. "MMMmmm" she moaned aloud as her mouth flooded with saliva at the intense pleasure the scent evoked_. If this is how good we smell to Henry, God it's a wonder that he isn't jumping on every human that passes._

Carrying the mug, she passed into the living room, trying hard to shake off the sense of entombment that the lowered shades that blocked the windows evoked. Her eyes settled on the bejeweled tree sitting in its tub on the tabletop. It was a beautiful and glowing masterpiece of balance and symmetry, the dangling ornaments catching and reflecting the light of the lamps.

She thought of the giant and boisterously decorated tree at the office, how they had laughed and joked as they had decorated it, the enjoyment that she had seen light Henry's face, especially as she had insisted that he must toss the tinsel by the handful onto the springing fragrant boughs.

Vicki crossed to the stereo system, _what I need is a little music, while I wait for Henry to…wake, something that will push back the oppressive stillness that fills this space. I wonder what he was listening to last, _she thought as she pressed the power button. The sweet and gentle strains of a string quartet rose up from the speakers at the edges of the room, whispering and flowing into her consciousness. _Not exactly "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas" Henry _she thought, but she left the disc in play anyway.

Crossing to the sofa she sat down placing he mug on the coffee table. She leaned forward to pick up a thin and much worn, antique copy of "A Christmas Carol" where it lay on the shining surface.

_Interesting reading for a vampire on Christmas Eve_ she thought. _Henry knows more about the supernatural and ghosts and monsters and things that go bump in the…night…than Charles Dickens could ever have imagined_. She thumbed through the thin volume. As she scanned the aged pages and the few faded hand colored illustrations, she thought about the way she and Coreen had ribbed Henry in regards to the Dickens story, and a small smile crossed her face, as she remembered his tight lipped responses to their teasing. "God bless us every one, God bless us every one" _Apparently even though he finds it a _'tad over sentimental'_ Henry enjoys reading it anyways_ she thought as she laid the book back on the table, resting her palm briefly on the cover.

She picked up her cup and with her forearms resting on her knees, sipped her coffee and waited for the time to pass.

When the cup was empty she rose to her feet and crossed the room to the small tree. What she had at first thought were ornaments, in the blur of her distance vision she realized now were miniature portraits, each hung with great care from the living branches of the blue spruce.

All of the portraits pictured gently smiling faces and direct and brilliant gazes as they looked out from where they were nestled amid the needles. _My God_, she thought, as she recognized an informal portrait of HenryVIII and another of Katherine of Aragon. _These are the faces of Henry's past._ Her heart lurched in her chest and she considered the number of faces that regarded her. _These are all people that Henry has loved and lost. _She felt like…like weeping with the immensity of that accumulative loss. _How can he go on?_

She crossed to the door of the vampire's sanctum and stood gazing with new understanding at the ancient youth who lay just as she had left him. She could just barely make out the glittering shapes of the portraits that rested on the night table and the one that lay on the sheet inside the circle of his arms. She sighed gustily and returned to the tree, inspecting each of the portraits closely and wondering, who these people were and why they were important enough in Henry's life for him to render them and remember them this way. And she was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt that each one of these little jewels were 'original Fitzroy's' though many bore the patina of great age.

She came across an ornament resolutely turned away to face the trunk of the tree, and she lifted it free of the branch turning it in her hand. It was Christina's visage that smiled beguilingly up from her palm. Vicki's lips drew back in a predatory baring of her teeth as she thought, _You can't have him bitch, I won't allow it, you had your chance… _Her fingers tightened momentarily on the frame and then she set it, gently, face down on the tabletop.

Her fingers brushed the small leather bound volume that rested there next to the wrapped packages. Curious, she lifted it into her hands flipping open the soft cover thinking _who would give Henry a handmade book?_

Inside the front cover inscribed in Coreen's familiar hand:

_Henry,_

_I am entrusting you with this,_

_the voice of my heart, _

_because I know,that you will be gentle. _

_Coreen_

Vicki closed the cover and replaced the little book under the tree, whatever it was that existed between Coreen and the vampire; she thought that Henry would allow no harm to befall her.

Vicki picked up her cup and headed back to the kitchen, glancing at the clock she saw that it was 3:20 PM, she knew that Henry would be waking in less than an hour and she wanted to be ready.

Pouring another cup of coffee she went to retrieve her bags.

At 3:50 pm Vicki had completed her preparations and settled herself on Henry's sofa to wait.

Vicki had over the last few month come to learn some few things in regards to vampires. One thing she knew was that it was a very poor idea to be in close proximity to a vampire when they woke.

As romantic as the notion was that she could be laying at his side when Henry came back into existence, the reality was, it took a few moments for Henry to orient himself and regain control, when he woke.

There had been an unfortunate incident a little more than a month previously, when she had thought to surprise Henry at sunset, planning to be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.

_He saw me alright, and then I saw a close up of the floor with a very disoriented and hungry, fully vamped out Henry on top of me with his fangs buried in my shoulder. I thought he was never going to stop apologizing. Well now I know the signs, when I touched him earlier, his skin was very cool, and his lips, those delectable…uh, his lips and cheeks very pale, he hasn't fed, so I will need to give him a bit of space._

Vicki was reading the Christmas Carol when she sensed the air grow thick with tension, a buzzing energy that washed her skin. Her instincts responded and she drew in a deeper breath as her pupils dilated and a phantom energy moved over her skin as her vestigial pelt rose in the presence of the predator.

He made no noise that she could hear, but then he had no need to announce his presence, between one moment and the next she knew that the vampire had returned. As quickly as it had appeared, that eldritch power was shuttered away.

Then Henry was at the door of his sanctum, tousled and tense. "Vicki?" he said "Is something wrong, I wasn't expecting you until much later this evening?"

Vicki stood slowly, and held her arms out from her sides in a very non-threatening posture; _I just want to give him a few minutes_ she thought. "Merry Christmas, Henry" she said smiling, she could feel her heart begin to pick up speed, now that Henry was actually awake.

Henry looked at her quizzically for a moment and then padded barefoot into the room.

"Vicki please, I'm not going to jump on you…again."

She held still as he reached out and touched her cheek and then drew her to him, placing a cool kiss, on her lips. In Vicki's honest opinion he broke away far too quickly to whisper in her ear, "Happy Christmas Vicki. Did you miss me?"

"Actually, I managed to escape from my Mom's early… Oh and we are going to talk…but truthfully, yes Henry… I…I did, miss you that is..." she stuttered as Henry drew back to look into her face. He could see the slow flush begin to rise across her chest and neck at the open collar of her shirt; she blushed at so simple an admission even as his own heart warmed at her words.

"So I thought I would come over and wait for you to rise, that way we will have more of Christmas to spend together." She doggedly pushed on.

A wicked smile lit his face as he moved in close to run light fingertips over her shoulder as he asked suggestively, "More time to do what, Vicki?"

"Down boy," she said with a grin of her own. "More time to do Christmas…things."

Undeterred, Henry angled in closer so that their hips were touching, one of his arms circling around to her lower back while his other hand tucked a stray wisp of her hair behind her ear.

"Things?" he asked somehow managing to look innocent and lascivious all at the same time.

"Things" she said again and kissed him lightly then broke away.


	7. Chapter 7

**H**enry moved with her as she said, "you always say that you want to know more about me more about who I am and how I became the way I am, right?"

"You know that I am interested in everything about you Vicki. Anything you choose to share with me." he said, as he moved close enough once more, to lay a hand softly on her arm. He closed his eyes, lifting his chin slightly as he drew in a long breath. She knew that he was breathing in her scent. When his eyes opened again his pupils were dilated consuming a good portion of the blue iris.

"Anything you choose to share." He repeated in a husky whisper as he met her gaze. She held it with her own for a moment as she could feel the heat building between them and then broke eye contact saying, "Ok then mister, get dressed and get your coat, we are going for a drive."

"You don't want to…to…open your presents?" Henry asked after a moment.

"Yes of course I do but when we come back, we have until dawn right?" She said.

He gave her a dazzling smile, and said, "That we do. Give me a few moments to change, and then we can go."

"I'll be right here." she said as she settled herself on the sofa and picked up the Christmas Carol again."

When they were in the elevator on their way to the lobby, Vicki leaned in close to Henry and threaded her arm through his. She could sense his slight discomfort at the confines of the elevator. His eyes had remained focused on the lit display of the floor numbers as they winked out while the elevator descended. He turned his head to smile at her.

"You don't like elevators do you? She asked.

He surprised her by freely admitting, "No not really, they are a little too confining for my comfort. I'll manage though. Here we are."

The door slipped open and Henry indicated that Vicki should precede him, as she emerged into the brightly lit lobby, with Henry at her heels, she heard a rather squeaky voice say, "Oh, good evening, Mrs. Fitzroy, and this must be Mr. Fitzroy, Merry Christmas Sir."

_Shit_, Vicki thought, _Busted!_ She glanced at Henry, to see a bemused smile on his face as he crossed to the guard. Vicki continued to the door of the elevator to the garage and pressed the call button. She could hear the murmur of the vampire's voice behind her.

By the time that the elevator had arrived Henry was beside her once more. As the door slid open he followed her inside, saying quietly in her ear. "He won't remember that incident Vicki, he now thinks that he called up to the condo and I told him to send Victoria Nelson up. He also knows that I am not to be disturbed, by anyone but you, during the day."

"Yeah well, not all of us have those, 'powers of persuasion,' Henry, some of us have to resort to disguises, no matter how unlikely." She shot back, but her expression and the increase in her heartbeat, mitigated the implied insult.

The door whisked aside and they emerged into the parking level.

"Holy shi..I mean Jeez…it is really cold down here." Vicki said, as the frozen concrete chill of the parking garage hit her.

"We could always go back upstairs if you would like, _Mrs. Fitzroy_." Henry offered, with just the slightest touch of irony in his voice.

"No, no…Just let me hang onto you, _Mr. Fitzroy_, I'll be fine" she said snugging her body in against his side.

Henry put his arm around her and drew her closer still as they walked the short distance to where the Jag was parked. He wished that he had more body heat to share with her, and that thought, brought the acknowledgement that he would need to find an opportunity to hunt, tonight.

He opened her door and just for this evening, she slid into the seat, blessedly, without comment.

Once he had maneuvered the car out of the lot he stopped at the entrance to the street.

He looked across to catch her watching him, "Which way?" he asked with a slight lift of his brow.

"Oh, just start driving" she said, "I'll know it when I see it."

Checking the flow of traffic, Henry obligingly turned to the left and began to drive. After a few minutes of silence, Vicki finally had to ask "Aren't you curious where we are going?"

"Yes" he replied glancing at her, then adjusting the heat lower as the interior of the car was warmer now, "but I know you will tell me whatever it is you want to share, when you are ready, so I am just…enjoying your company."

She could discern no sarcasm in his tone; he was just saying what he felt.

_How different is that than Mike?_ She thought. _There is always, was always this competition thing between us, right down to who could get in the smartest comment. We were always harping on each other. Here I am, sitting next to one of the most dangerous predators on the planet, and I feel more relaxed and more myself than I can ever remember feeling._

She drew in a deep breath and said slowly, "When I was young, really young, like maybe seven or eight, before my Dad split, we used to do this thing. Oh, turn right here Henry" she instructed, directing him into an older residential area.

"Anyway we would do this thing after Christmas dinner, when we were all stuffed and the dishes were done, when it was dark. We would get all dressed up in coats and hats and scarves and get in the car and drive around looking at all the Christmas lights on people's houses. I know it sounds lame," she said as she caught Henry's eye, "But it is one of the best memories of Christmas I have from being a kid, sitting between my Mom and Dad in the front seat and each of us exclaiming over the lights."

She was quiet for a moment, looking out the passenger window at the decorated homes they were now passing. "It was always kind of magical…the lights, the dark…"

"Feeling the warmth of closeness and safety?" Henry volunteered.

"Yeah, that. Well I just thought that I would share that memory with you and that maybe we could stop and walk around and look at some of the displays. This might be the last time…" Vicki's voice faded to a whisper as she stopped in mid sentence.

"The last time," Henry said frowning, "the last time, what?" He guided the Jag to a halt against the curb.

_Come on Nelson say it, just say it, that's what all this is about isn't it? _She mentally shouted at herself searching for the courage to step off the edge of the precipice she had brought herself to.

Instead, she slid her seatbelt off and fumbled with the handle of the door, escaping into the night. By the time her door clicked shut, Henry was standing beside her on the sidewalk, his hand resting lightly on her arm.

"The last time…what, Victoria?" He asked again, listening to the sudden thundering of her heart. _She is frightened,_ he thought. _She is frightened and so I am frightened, what is wrong?_

She drew in a shaky breath and he watched her as she pulled her own masquerade of calm, like a veneer over her features. Her eyes grew moist, glittering with unshed tears as she confided on the next exhalation, "The last time, I may ever be able to _see_ them."

She stood defiantly with her chin trembling and her breath streaming white into the night air.

She was daring him, he knew, daring him to say the words that would allow her to drive him away.

Instead the vampire, smiled a slow, low smile and linking his arm through hers said, "Then I am doubly honored that you chose to share this memory with me tonight Victoria, shall we?"

Arm in arm they strolled slowly along the street, and at first, Vicki, tense after her admission was silent and Henry respecting her emotional turmoil, though the vampire roused to her conflicted scent, remained silent as well.

Eventually Vicki began to point out, this or that feature of the holiday light displays that glowed bright against the night. Soon Henry joined her in exclaiming over the simple beauty of a tall pine festooned with thousands of green fairy lights, the ostentatious display of a house completely covered, roof and all in net lights, or the magical sense of movement at the animated display of Santa's elves in their workshop.

They stood hand in hand in front of the life sized nativity scene that was constructed in the front of one house, Henry marveling at the ingenuity the home owners had displayed in transforming their overhanging porch into the softly lit stable, where the Christ child reclined smiling in a straw filled manger. Vicki, on the other hand, was wondering aloud, where they stored the two life-sized camels that stood behind the figures of the adoring magi, all the rest of the year.

When Vicki was eventually shivering in the night air and her cheeks glowing with the cold, Henry suggested that they might return to his condo for a hot drink.

He needed to feed, but he didn't want to force Vicki to wait for him while he took the time to hunt, neither did he wish, if he was honest with himself, to be parted from her. He weighed the hunger against his need to be with his love, and for now the hunger for her presence was stronger.

"Yeah a coffee would be good…and present opening." Vicki said with a wistful smile, as she linked her arm through Henry's once more.

"My lady, your carriage awaits you." Henry said and they started back to the car.

%%%% &&&&& %%%% &&&&&

Henry turned the key in the door of the condo, he was still chuckling over the story that Vicki had just told him. _Who would of suspected the rotund Detective Graham of such antics_? He thought, _apparently the un-official Christmas party at "Flannigan's" was the opportunity for the hilarity of stress relief that law enforcement required._

He turned to look at Vicki who was still clutching her ribs and chuckling.

"The look on Detective Celluci's face when he opened it … must have been priceless. I am sorry to have missed it."

"Well yeah, the look was good, but when Mike knocked over the chair as he jumped up and…" Vicki dissolved into a fit of laughter again and helplessly leaned against Henry as they stood just inside the door. She laughed until the tears began to roll down her cheeks in a wet trail.

It was more than Henry could bear and without thought he leaned forward and lapped the salt of her tears from her cheek in one swift, smooth movement. The familiar saltiness merged with her scent made the vampire unruly and Henry, eyes closed, spent a moment tightening his control.

The laughter had died on Vicki's lips as she felt Henry's cool tongue against her cheek. She watched him close his eyes in concentration, and she felt warmth flush across her skin and a tightening low in her womb. _Oh I want this_ she thought suddenly, _I want this…_

Vicki's forehead dropped against Henry's broad chest and she rested it there against his solid presence as she waited for the sudden pounding of the blood in her temples to calm.

Henry waited, stock still as she pressed her forehead against his chest, and he wondered if it pained her, he drew breath the ask the question, when she cleared her throat and straightening said to him, "So, how about some coffee and then those presents?

He took a single step back, indicating that she should precede him into the living room, but she shook her head saying, "No you go ahead, I'll make the coffee, I have a few things that I want to do.

Henry was standing in his habitual place by the windows, having opened the shutters, he had allowed the evening's calm to flow back around him. He was staring straight out into the night, completely aware of the living presence of his beloved behind him in the condo. She pervaded his every sense as she moved about in his sanctum.

He was filled with a sense of timelessness as he gazed out at the stars which flickered and danced behind the gauzy curtain of the under lit urban sky.

He hungered and yet his heart felt sated by her mere presence so close at hand. He half-turned at a small crash from the direction of the kitchen and his generous lips lifted slightly at the muttered curse which immediately followed.

His eyes were drawn to the glittering tree and the twirling and sparkling ornaments and though his thoughts drifted as memory after memory bubbled up begging for his attention, he tethered himself resolutely to the present, anchoring his consciousness to the gnawing hunger that unfurled within.

By the time that Vicki emerged from the kitchen, a tray balanced in her hands, on which rested the coffee, a single mug, a bottle of spring water and a large Christmas motif tin with a red looped bow on top, Henry was seated on the sofa one ankle resting on the opposite knee in the picture of studied relaxation and apparent comfort.

His smile when he looked up to meet her gaze was…angelic.

Let me help you," he said as he started to his feet.

"No, I've got it." She insisted and she settled on the sofa beside him after lowering the tray to the table top.

There was a moment of silence, and it was then that Henry made his 'fatal' mistake.

He asked innocently enough, "How did you find your mother, Vicki?"

In retrospect, he probably should have known better. It seemed like a harmless question and he was really quite unprepared for the curious change that immediately came over Vicki's face.

"How did I find my mother?" she mimicked him. "How is my mother? I'll tell you how my mother is Mister! She is dying to meet you, is how she is. I heard nothing while I was there except 'When will you arrange for me to meet this Henry, Vicki? Where did he get those lovely old fashioned manners, Vicki? What are his prospects, Vicki? When will you bring him to visit, Vicki? What are his origins, Vicki? Perhaps the families should meet, Vicki?'" she paused and drew in a quick breath before continuing.

"My God Henry, what the hell were you thinking, the flowers were bad enough, I probably could have talked that down, but the note saying that you were waiting anxiously to meet her…she is never going to let up. You don`t know her, she'll keep on and on until finally, finally she will get her way and I will have to introduce you."

Vicki had jumped up to her feet at some point during this outburst and was pacing up and down in front of him gesturing and turning sharply on her heel, occasionally pointing, _well actually stabbing,_ an accusatory finger at him.

"I just don't know how I am going to prevent her from meeting you". Vicki ran her hands through her hair distractedly.

"Would it be so bad… if your mother were to meet me, Vicki?" Henry asked her quietly. "I mean, are you ashamed in some way, of our…friendship?" He finished slowly.

"What? No, of course not Henry, it's just…it's just…"

Henry`s brow lowered, and Vicki watched as his gaze shuttered. "I understand." he said briefly, paused and then continued, "I apologize if I caused you any embarrassment Vicki, I won`t…"

"Oh for fuck's sake Henry," Vicki said, exasperated now. "It's not you, it's her, you silly ass. She's…she's…"

"She is your mother Vicki. Is it so wrong for me to want to meet her?"

"No of course not Henry but once she meets you, once she sees you, she will want to know more and more. She'll start asking after you, asking about you, lots and lots of questions, some that I might not be able to answer, and I know Henry, I just know, that in the end…she will find out…she will figure it out."

"That I am vampire?" He asked her incredulously.

"You don't know her Henry, she is relentless. When Mike and I were…when we were together,

She just couldn`t leave it alone. She knew all about…"

"And what would happen?" Henry asked her suddenly, once more interrupting. "If she knew, what I am, what do you think that she would do?"

That stopped Vicki in mid-stride and she stared at him as he leaned forward, hands on his thighs as he looked up at her. She hadn't really thought past the idea of preventing her mother from finding out that she was involved with a vampire, to a plan of what to do if she did.

"I don`t know." She said after a long moment. "I don`t know what she would do. I really don`t know what she would think."

"So why are we worried about it right now?" Henry said equitably. "We can deal with it when and if, I ever actually have the pleasure of making your mother`s acquaintance."

Vicki sank back to the sofa again and looking him straight in the face said darkly,

"Oh you`ll meet her alright…and it may not be the pleasure that you anticipate."

Her glance was dark, but her voice was somewhat mollified.

Henry smiled slightly, feeling absurdly as though a crisis had be averted and making careful mental note to refrain from sending Marjorie any more gifts or notes, unless Vicki unduly delayed their meeting.

Vicki leaned forward to the tray and poured herself a cup of coffee, she lifted the water with an inquiring glance at Henry but he shook his head slightly so she left it on the tray.

She eased herself back on the sofa wriggling closer to Henry, and he lifted his arm to place it around her shoulder. They sat so for a few moments Vicki enjoying her coffee and Henry inhaling the faintly burnt, bitter smell of the black brew which had such a magically calming effect on his lady love.

"Will you light the tree while we exchange our gifts?" Vicki asked

It didn't take long to light the beeswax candles, in their brass holders that were clipped to the branches. _I have to admit_ Vicki thought as Henry placed the last lit candle upright, _the candles make for a beautiful soft and golden effect._ At this close range the tree was more or less in focus and she could see the light glittering from the ornaments. "I have never seen a tree lit with candles Henry," she said, "It is really beautiful, and it is just so…so…you."

Henry turned and his smile flew straight and true, right into Vicki's heart. He picked up a largish rectangular package and replied, "And I hope that this will be so…you, too."

_It looks like it might be clothing _she thought but when Henry had laid it in her hands she realized it was far too heavy to be a garment.

"Happy Christmas Vicki," Henry said as he settled beside her, "open it."

Vicki began to carefully open the elegantly wrapped gift, but she eventually tore back the wrapping faster as her curiosity was piqued. There was a plain sturdy box underneath and when she lifted the lid she drew in her breath sharply.

"It's that thermal imaging camera that Coreen and I have been drooling over, Henry this is far too expensive a …"

"Please Vicki, you know I can afford it and with this technology, nighttime stakeouts will be…"

"Will still be possible for me" she finished in a whisper, as her hand rested on the camera.

"Exactly" Henry said.

"Thank you Henry, I love it. I was sure that you were the 'jewelry' sort of a guy." She said as she leaned across to place a sweet brief kiss on his lips, breaking away before he could attempt to deepen that contact.

Henry was relieved, when he had decided on the camera as his gift to Vicki, he had be unsure of what her response would be. He knew that the technology would be invaluable to her business by allowing Vicki to work at night more effectively, but he feared her normal angry reaction to any mention of her failing eyesight. He had hoped that her desire to work would override her resentment in regards to her disability and so far it seemed that was the case.

Henry reached into the camera box and extracted another small flat package wrapped in a silken blue drawstring bag. He held it out to Vicki saying. "There is no getting anything past Victoria Nelson PI _extraordinaire, _I am afraid I am the, _jewelry sort of a guy_."

"Henry, it's too much." Vicki said as she took the small bag from him. "At least open my present for you first." She handed him a flat rectangular package wrapped in tissue.

He frowned slightly in puzzlement, her scent told him that as soon as she had placed the package in his hands she had become frightened, he couldn't fathom why that would be but he could hear her heart rate ramping upwards. He didn't like it, and it made the hunger buck under his control.

She smiled at him, "Go on, and rip it open. I want to know what you think" she said lightly, her voice in absolute contrast to the sudden tension in her frame.

His nimble fingers had removed the wrappings in a moment and when he lifted the lid of the box, an inch thick soft cover book lay inside. His eyes settled on the cover. The title read, _How Can I Help? A Practical Guide for Family and Friends of the Visual Impaired._

He felt the cool tears start in his eyes as he drew in a soft breath and he whispered a gentle, "Thank you, Vicki." He knew what the message was behind the gifting of this book. He thought that he might be able to hazard a guess at exactly what it had cost his "warrior princess" emotionally to so openly address her deepest fear… dependency. The message of trust she was sending him was clear, he was honored by her gift and the effort her admission had taken.

His eyes were moist when he met her gaze, her eyes widened slightly and then her body relaxed and the corners of her generous lips lifted. Again the slow building heat suffused her and Henry laid the book aside on the sofa as he slipped closer to her drawn forward irresistibly by the slow blush rising in her cheeks.

"Vicki, I…"

"You have another present," she said, once again retreating before his advance. She reached to the tray and lifted the tin. "They are from my mother." She said. "You see…how she is? These are her homemade Christmas cookies."

Henry lifted the lid on the tin and it was filled with what he recognized as round flat shortbread cakes.

"_Marjory's Melt In Your Mouth Shortbread,_" Vicki said with a sardonic smile. "You know she is going to be waiting for a full report of how much you enjoyed them right? I'll just make up a story and tell her that you ate them all or something."

"Vicki, I certainly don't want to be responsible for you lying to your mother on account of my…_disability_." Henry said lifting a cookie from the tin and broke off a substantial piece which he popped into his mouth.

Henry almost never …ate. It was a long lost habit that it was simply easier to forget.

When he was first made, he had missed "human" food terribly; well truthfully it wasn't the food so much as the ritual of consumption. Like all of his kind, he was able to consume solid foods in severely limited amounts. It would not harm him, but his body could not metabolize it, and he lacked the ability to discern its flavor. The occasional salty olive from a martini, or in this case the small square of shortbread that was currently disintegrating against his tongue, were tasteless, incomplete memories from an existence lost nearly five centuries before.

He supposed that this ability was an adjunct to the masquerade, and indeed he had in the past, upon occasion, allayed the suspicions of some, by simply tasting a morsel and exclaiming how delicious was the flavor. More than once, he had been in a position where he had been forced to consume more than the limited amount his body could tolerate and the resulting cramping and nausea as his body had forcefully expelled the offending material had left him… disinclined to further indulgences.

Henry moved the "food" about in his mouth; it was true to its name, melting. It was not necessary to really chew it, though he did, for form's sake, make a desultory attempt, before by force of will alone, swallowing the whole grainy, flat tasteless mass.

"Vicki had watched the entire proceeding at first open mouthed and then with a puzzled smile.

Now she chuckled aloud as she said, "Henry, you should see your face. If you are going to "pretend" to eat, you should at the very least have more control over your expression, you look like I just fed you a tablespoon full of fireplace ashes."

Henry was a little annoyed that Vicki had so aptly interpreted his reactions and he replied stiffly, "Please give my thanks to your mother, as I… am forbidden contact, and assure her that I found…" Here he paused for a long moment while, throat working, he quelled his body's treacherous gag reflex, and then passing a knuckle over his lips continued, " You may truthfully tell Marjory that I ate the shortbread and found it…delicious."

Vicki was filled with a sudden tenderness, for the man before her and she leaned forward against him to press her mouth to his, as his arms came up around her, she teased with her tongue between his lips and he parted them to grant her access. She kissed him thoroughly and he responded to her, deepening the kiss, with a sudden intensity that jumped from his body to hers like an electric charge.

She could taste the sweet buttery richness of the shortbread, he had just eaten. She drew back for a deep breath, and as she looked into his face she saw something completely irresistible smoldering behind his eyes.

"I had this all planned" she said as she, by force of her body weight, pushed Henry back to recline on the sofa seat among the rustling discarded Christmas wrap behind him. She was working at the buttons of his shirt as she spoke. "I have a really sexy red negligee wrapped in a box for you," she said. As he raised an eyebrow, she paused to clarify, "well to give you…for me to wear."

She lowered her face to kiss him again and then pushing open his shirt laid her palms against his chest, in a gesture that was far more possessive that any amount of clutching could be.

"But now," she paused as Henry s shrugged out of his shirt and she tossed it theatrically away, "now I find myself just a little impatient."


	8. Chapter 8

"**B**ut now," she paused as Henry shrugged out of his shirt and she tossed it theatrically away, "now I find myself just a little impatient."

His arms came up around her as she moved to straighten and he drew her down to him again, the fabric of her shirt pressed against his skin, her soft hair tumbling around his face as he kissed her. His hands rubbed reflexively up and down her sides and across her back.

She could feel the low rumbling growl that vibrated in his chest as he twisted upwards and to the side trapping her between his body and the back of the sofa, her neck cushioned against his arm. The growl eventually emerged as the guttural whisper of her name, "Vicki." Henry kissed and nipped at her lips and then chin, drawing his tongue along her jaw before kissing the pulse point beneath her ear.

Vicki's fingers were busy with the buttons of her own shirt as Henry nuzzled and kissed her throat and when she had undone the last and was struggling to get the fabric off her shoulders, he impatiently stripped it to her wrists in one swift movement and tugged it off, tossing it aside.

He moved back to her lips with feather light kisses while he slipped his hand beneath the straps of the red satin bra she wore and pushed the thin strips of fabric down her arms.

Vicki parted her lips for Henry's kiss but his hands and lips roved over her face and neck, tasting and scenting her skin, and she could feel the strange, humming tension start up in the air.

He huffed small breaths underneath her jaw and she reached with trembling fingers to unlatch the front closure of her bra, arching her back as she thrust her aching breasts towards his touch. He was burrowing his face against her shoulder as his hands came up to palm her breasts, fingers spread wide.

Her groan of pleasure was cut short as she felt his lips mold over her throat and as she felt the scrape of his fangs along her skin, she stiffened instinctively. He stilled immediately, though the signature of the vampire's energy skittered and danced along her skin.

She reached up to pull his head back gently her fingers tangled in his curls and the gaze that met hers was obsidian.

"Henry…?" As she said his name, she was not sure what she was asking.

"V-Vicki…" As she watched, the midnight black of his eyes contracted as though an eclipse was passing off the face of a blue moon. The sea colored irises of his eyes emerged, though his pupils remained huge.

"I want, I want you Henry," she whispered. "Please…"

Henry stood, swinging her into his arms in one smooth movement, crossing swiftly through the doors of his bedroom. Vicki looped her arms around his neck and where her cheek rested against his chest she heard the slow contraction of her lover`s heart. She was always surprised by the immense strength coiled in his frame, _as though my entire weight were an insubstantial thing…_

She began to wriggle in his arms, "Put me down Henry." She said sharply. He watched her face carefully as he set her on her feet next to the bed, puzzled at this strange change in her demeanor, his hands resting lightly on her bare arms.

_Have I offended some modern sensibility?_ He thought. Her scent screamed arousal, the sweet distracting musk of a woman's body coiled in the air around him. _She wants me, her body cannot lie. She wants me; even now she leans towards me._

"I can come to your bed under my own power Henry," she said. Perhaps the rebuff would have stung but for the love that he saw lighting her gaze as she cupped his cheek.

"Give me a few moments," she said, as she moved towards the washroom. He followed her for a few steps, as the vampire demanded, but the door swung resolutely closed behind her, leaving him on the outside, and he roused himself.

Returning to the living room, he extinguished the candles on the tree and he cast a curious eye at the wrapped present from Vicki that remained under the tree. _No doubt it contains the aforementioned negligee,_ he thought regretfully, _perhaps, another time._

When he had returned to the bedroom, she had not yet emerged and he crossed back to the bed, removing his clothing quickly and slipping between the sheets.

_I cannot repeat the lapse that I had earlier,_ he cautioned himself. When Vicki had leaned in to kiss him, the vampire had slipped his restraints, and the hunger had drawn it to the forefront. It had taken a great deal of effort to submerge the vampire behind his human façade again.

_Vicki would accept me in any event I am sure, still it is …easier, if the masquerade stays in place easier for me to maintain control. _ All thought evaporated as Vicki emerged into the soft light of his sanctum, her smooth skin tawny in the low light and she paced the short distance to his bed confidently, unselfconsciously naked.

He rose to one elbow throwing back the sheets to allow her to slip in beside him and stretch out along his cool length.

"You're beautiful." He stated the obvious, he knew, yet the words escaped him anyways.

As her warm weight settled beside him, he turned to her and took her into his embrace, pulling her towards him.

He bent his head to her, filling his senses with her scent, her warmth, her heartbeat and the taste of her skin. She lifted his chin and their lips met in a long and intimate kiss, a continuation of their earlier explorations. He felt her body grow heated and her blood speed in its course, driven by the increased beating of her heart. The sweet scent of her arousal called to his body and as his erection brushed against the silken skin of her stomach she snuggled in closer to him to trap his length, aching between them. Their fingertips and lips roved the landscape of the others body, touching and tasting and encouraging.

Henry could sense the trembling passion that Vicki held as tightly leashed as he held his vampiric nature. He was a skillful and empathic lover. Long ago he had lost the requirement to dominate.

Centuries spent in living separate from humanity and yet intimately involved with the few he allowed close, had left him adept at aligning himself closely to the physical responses of those he loved. There was no callow or strategic thought involved in what he did, he simply sent his senses outwards and by allowing his defenses to fall, he drew in their energy and acted on their responses as though they were his own. What he did, he did without thought or plan in a smooth and effortless performance. The result was that his touches and strokes seemed to Vicki, to recognize her desires before she even did herself.

He called to her with his body, he waited just on the other side of the barrier she had erected between them and in a soft challenge carried by his artist's hands, without words he called her to him.

The pressure of his hands on her breasts, or across her belly, the gentle probing of his fingertips into her slick secret spaces, granted her the courage and the strength she needed. The shadowed and close space between their bodies was charged with the energy that their lovemaking invoked.

Henry felt her hands upon him, heated and pulsing with her life force. She traced long trails of heat against the skin of his chest, working tenderly and teasingly over his hardened nipples with her thumbs, until he emitted the low groan that she required as her recompense.

The long muscles of his thighs tightened in an instinctive forward flex as the ridged warmth of her fingers firmly encircled his length, rising and falling with an abruptly intoxicating effect.

They touched and stroked and tumbled the walls between them until their wills were entwined.

Slowly, Vicki rolled over to her back. With the hand that was not so industriously engaged, she urged him to roll with her, desiring to feel the weight of his body upon her. She loosened her thighs and he settled himself so that he was aligned to the welcoming entrance to her body.

He laved her hardened nipples with his tongue, and the coolness of his breath multiplied the sensation until she found herself writhing under his attentions, her mind unsure whether she wanted to retreat from further stimulation or throw herself in pursuit of more.

Her breath was coming in shorter and shorter gasps and she felt her pelvis arch upward in a rocking, instinctive motion. It was a wordless invitation that they both recognized.

Henry positioned himself carefully and as her hands moved round to rest fingers splayed against his buttocks, he edged himself into her warmth.

He moved with caution, watching her face as she watched him. She sighed loud and long as he inched himself into her. She did not close her eyes or turn her face from his gaze, but met his eyes boldly, a smile on her lips as she kneaded his buttocks in encouragement. She frowned as he withdrew slightly, and then groaned through parted lips as he thrust further forward.

_My love_, he thought as he gazed down on her face. He held his weight up on his arms, felt himself enveloped in the molten heat of her core. _God, why do men think that the heat of hell is a punishment,_ he thought. He was burning, on fire and he only wanted more and more, to get closer to her.

He withdrew again and pushed forward once again, further, working his own hips in a rocking movement until he was completely joined to her. Vicki arched her back up off the bed and tilted her chin up as she groaned in pleasure, when she felt his tip touch the mouth of her womb.

She stretched out the long sweet arch of her throat in the ritualistic display of surrender and trust, so far gone into her pleasure that she ceased to know or consider anything but her love of the man above her, the lover joined to her, _her love…_Henry.

The hunger clamored and roared in him, demanding attention, demanding satiation. He thrust it forcibly aside. Vicki shifted her hips beneath him as he arched over her, his head bent and his tumbled curls falling forward as he squeezed shut his eyes.

She began to move, slowly, sweetly, manipulating his hard length inside her. Her hands came up to his elbows, squeezing his arms in a silent instruction to be still. She lifted and flexed her muscles, tensing and arching. He could feel her inner walls loosen and then tighten on him, drawing on his engorged and sensitive flesh, a sweet and intimate torture that he thought he could not endure a moment longer. He bunched his muscles to move and she persisted, tightening her fingers. _Wait. Be still_. Her hips jerked in a sudden and abrupt movement as she groaned. He opened his eyes and watched her face as her gaze focused inward.

"Mmmmm." The sound she made was inarticulate, yet he understood the meaning clearly and released, then withdrew and thrust against her again and again as she rose to meet his movements. When he slowed, sensing her nearing completion, she surged almost upright from the pillow, twisting her hands in his hair and fastening her lips to his, urgent in her demand. She dragged him downward towards her and he went willingly, lost in the passion of her kiss and the stimulation of her abandon.

He rolled slowly and still joined together, she rose above him, her golden hair brushing his chest in a thousand soft, feathered touches. She drew her legs up and straddled him, her hands on his chest as she pressed herself upright. He watched her raise and then lower herself and he could no more lay still than he could have flown. He lifted his hips in a wanton rhythm that was all instinct, meeting hers as his hands roved the smooth skin of her torso, then up to palm the weight of her breasts.

She was panting in short little breaths now, and his hands grasped her waist and then slid to her hips, his thumbs denting the taut flesh on either side of the dark hollow of her umbilicus as she ground herself down against him.

He was at the very edge of his control as he felt first the contraction of her inner walls and then the shuddering of her body as she lost the focus of her rhythm. He let go and followed her down, in a sweet and jerking surrender, growling out her name in his release.

She slowly collapsed forward as he watched the smooth skin of her throat move closer and closer, the throbbing pulse beneath calling to him, drawing his attention, his focus. The tiniest flex of the surface of her skin, promising…promising…

She turned her head to the side kissing the underside of his jaw and then settled her head against his chest. He brought his arm up around her lowering his chin to rest on the top of her head. He was shocked, to find that his fangs were fully distended. He didn't remember when they had dropped, which alarmed him slightly.

They lay quietly for a few minutes, Vicki's breathing eventually evened out and her heart rate slowed. It became easier for Henry to hold onto the vampire as the pounding of her heart subsided.

Eventually she sighed and then shifted her hips and he felt himself slip from the warmth of her body's embrace. He stroked her hair and traced with a fingertip the shell of her ear.

"You didn't bite me, Henry." Vicki said softly.

"Was I supposed to?" He responded.

"I thought that sex and feeding were tied together. Isn't that what 'playing with your food' is all about?" she persisted.

Henry sighed, "They can be. Feeding can be tied to sex and sex can be tied to feeding, or not. Sometimes, feeding is just about the …blood."

"And sometimes sex is just about the sex?" she finished.

Henry twisted towards her on the sheet. "Sometimes," he agreed with a smile, "But sometimes sex is about love, Vicki. I love you, Victoria. Tonight is about that."

He didn't expect her to answer his declaration; he thought that she might even refute it. He expected her to flee the emotion of the moment. Indeed she broke away from his embrace and moved gracefully across the room, picking up his red silk robe from the chair and folding it over her arm.

As she passed into the bath, she surprised him. "I love you, _fang boy_." She whispered. "For all that you can be a royal pain in the ass…" the rest of the comment was cut off as the door of the bath swung closed.

Henry swept his tongue across the sharp points of the double set of his incisors. '_Fang boy',_ _didn't sound anywhere near as insulting, _he thought with a grin, _when it rolled off her swollen, sweet lips_. He rose and crossed to the bathroom door, laying his palm flat against the wooden panel.

_Is she humming?_ He thought as the grin widened, _actually…humming?_ He was sure it was '_Frosty the Snowman' _that he heard when recognized the '_there must have been some magic_' line muttered in her tuneless rhythmic hum. Then, when he heard the shower begin to run, he thought, _I could just wander in and join her, maybe she would like that smooth golden skin washed. I could do her back for her. _ The thought of his hands gliding, slippery with soap, over the full mounds of her breasts caused his manhood to twitch and lift.

He did not allow his hand to close on the door handle. _I don't have the strength to hold back the vampire; I need to feed before I come to her again._

He gathered his clothes, and crossed to the door, heading to the guest bath, a quick shower and then he would ask Vicki to wait while he hunted. _I can be quick, if I hit Chinatown, outside the gambling parlors; I would need less than an hour…_

When Vicki emerged from the shower, dressed in Henry's red robe, her hair damp and finger combed, she noted that the bed had been straightened and that her clothes lay in a group at the end of the comforter. She ignored them, suddenly anxious to see Henry again; she crossed to the doors of his bedroom.

She found him in the kitchen, fully clothed and his hair damp and curling as he leaned on the counter nursing a bottle of spring water. She halted a few feet from him, suddenly awkward, at their remembered intimacy.

"Tsk," he moved immediately to Vicki, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the corner of her mouth, "I've set out a drink for you in the living room…my love." He said with a smile.

_My love,_ she thought, _my love, I shouldn't like the sound of that but…I do. My love…_

She walked ahead of him and sat down on the edge of the couch across from where the tumbler of scotch on the rocks sat, frosted with condensation on the coffee table. Beside it sat the little blue silken bag.

Henry could sense her awkwardness, her unease and it set his nerves on edge. It was a near relative to fear, and the vampire roiled beneath the surface of his skin. He sat close beside her, invading her personal space, his thigh brushing hers. He did not lay his hands on her, as much as he wished to, for fear that she would feel cornered.

He couldn't leave when she was in this state. He was sure that she would be gone by the time he returned and they would lose whatever closeness had developed between them.

Vicki stared into her glass, watching the ice swirl, and wondered at the strangeness of her response. She felt like…like she was waiting for something, something bad...good? She wasn't sure. This was Henry, her Henry and yet somehow the landscape around her had changed, _what comes next?_ She thought.

She glanced at Henry to see him watching her intently; his eyes a deep dark blue and lit with his love for her. She looked quickly away, glancing towards the tree. She wanted to fill the silence and she said the first thing that entered her mind.

"Who was the woman in the portrait you took with you to your bed?" she asked.

Henry startled a little, but he answered her immediately, "That was Mary, my…wife."

The second question was easier, "Mary Howard?" she asked.

"Mary Fitzroy," he said, and she heard the definite edge to his voice. "After my…death, my father and his 'historians', put it about that our marriage had never been consummated. It was more _convenient_ for the King, that way, I suppose."

"And was it?" She hazarded, "consummated I mean."

_I am not going to lie_, he thought _she deserves the truth. They both deserve the truth._

"I loved Mary. We grew up in each other's company, she was Surrey's sister and when she was brought to me as my bride I already loved her, and she me. We took joy both in and out of our marriage bed." He said slowly.

Vicki was silent for a moment and then she said, "But you left her, for Christina, didn't you?"

"Yes." He said bluntly. He refused to excuse himself and yet he couldn't allow Vicki to think, to think…

"Mary never re-married, do you know why?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know…She gave up on men? She didn't have to?" Vicki said nastily.

Henry shook his head, his eyes soft and sorrowful. "She forgave me, for what I had done, for _everything_ that I had done and she accepted what I had become. She said that she knew that Christina had enchanted me and that she still considered me to be her husband."

"You're telling me that Mary Howa…that Mary, knew that you were…are…a vampire?"

Henry's hand travelled unconsciously to the silver cross on his chest. He nodded, "She knew, and she loved me, welcomed me as her husband. She kept a safe place for me, a sanctuary, at each of her homes, and I went to her, as I could, year after year. I loved her, Vicki, monster that I was, but she still held me to her.

She kept safe for me, something that Christina had been determined to destroy. She held in faithful memory, the man I had been, safe and whole in her heart, and when I was lost, she returned me to myself. I loved her."

Vicki could see the truth in his eyes as he continued, "As I love you."

"But she grew old and died." Vicki said haltingly, she reached out to touch his face, "And you stayed young."

He nodded slowly his brow knit as though he was pained, "When I chose Christina, when I allowed her to turn me, I stepped away from your world. You all," he glanced at the tree and then back, "You all leave me, travel on without me. This is what it means to be vampire, Vicki."

Vicki leaned into him, her shoulder pressed against his, her discomfort forgotten. She swirled the remnant of her drink in her glass. "Fuck…Henry. I thought I had abandonment issues, who knew eternal youth wasn't all it was cracked up to be?"

His smile was as effective a masquerade as Vicki had ever seen and yet it didn't fool her for an instant. She turned her body to him, longing for the perfect closeness they had shared just a scant half hour earlier. He lifted his arms around her and squeezed with a desperation that chilled her. Then he said, "I'm sorry Vicki, I am going to have to leave, briefly, to feed. At most an hour, but I would like it very much if you would wait for me."

"Don't go, Henry." The words were out before she had time to reflect. "Stay here with me."

He knew that he could not, that she drew the hunger to the surface and he could feel his grasp slipping. "An hour, no more," he pleaded. "Vicki, I can't…"

"Take whatever you need from me Henry, don't look elsewhere tonight. Not tonight."

She met his gaze clear-eyed, "I know that what we did earlier was about love Henry, and so is this. Let me do this for you."

He shifted and she tensed then relaxed when he only reached for the blue satin bag, placing it in her hands. "Open it, Vicki." he said.

She loosened the drawstring and slid a blue velvet jewelry case out into her palm. "And here I thought you were the _thermal imaging camera_ kind of guy." she quipped.

Henry was intent and either ignored or didn't perceive the joke. "Open it, Vicki." He said again as he leaned in.

She snapped open the lid, revealing the white satin lining that displayed a gold pendant, engraved in exquisite detail, with a handsome angel with wings spread and a swirling robe, vanquishing a demon beneath his feet. She touched a finger to the detailed, shining rendering. "It's beautiful Henry," she said.

"It is Saint Michael, archangel, Michael the Defender, the Protector, God's warrior. Will you wear it, Vicki, please?"

She nodded as he rose to come round behind her and she handed him the necklace she had lifted from the case.

Vicki felt the cool smooth surface of the gold against her flesh as Henry fastened the clasp at the back of her neck, bending to place a kiss on her shoulder. She heard him draw in her scent as he hovered there a moment.

His lips were moving soundlessly as he came around and sat next to her on the sofa again and then he crossed his chest as he settled.

"You weren't saying 'grace' were you?" She asked with a smile.

He shook his head, "No." he responded. "_Sancte Michael, Archangele, defende nos in proelio…_ Saint Michael, the Archangel, defend us in battle…" he translated.

Vicki snuggled back into the sofa arm lifting her feet up onto the sofa and pulling the red silk of the robe tight around her. Henry looked decidedly ill at ease, "Vicki, I am not sure that…"

She patted her chest with one hand as she looked him in the eye. "Come here…love," she said.

In the end, he lay between her thighs, having removed his shirt; his cool back in contact with the heated glow of her soft skin where he reclined against her.

She had looped her arm over his muscled shoulder and brought the translucent skin of her wrist to his lips. The faint, branching blue of her veins had called to him, though it was higher up her forearm, above the Marks that marred her flesh, where he had finally succumbed.

At first he had been as tense as a newborn, scenting and laving her skin with his tongue again and again. Her warm scent enveloped him and she had waited quietly, as he extended his fangs over the glowing net of his beloved's life.

He lifted his chin a final time to glance back at her, eyes blank and black and searching her face for any reservation.

"Please Henry." She said quietly, "It hurts me that you're hungry."

The vampire slipped past as always and when he placed his mark upon her flesh, the four tiny punctures that marked her as his own, the first sweet pulse of her blood flowed.

The vampire claimed his due, while behind him, he felt her stiffen as he drew on her strongly, perhaps three times and then… it was only Henry who lay reclined against his love.

She relaxed back with a soft sigh and stroked his hair gently back with her free hand as he suckled. He allowed the pumping of her own heart to fill his mouth with her life force before swallowing to wait patiently again.

She dozed as time passed, for the hour was late, but roused as, with a sigh, Henry retracted his fangs and kissed the small wound, and then her wrist and then her palm. He turned to her, and she smiled sleepily.

"Thank you, my love," he said.

"Was that enough? You're not still hungry are you?

"No, love, that particular hunger is sated." He smiled and shifted upwards to place a kiss on her collarbone and then jaw.

He rose and padded to the kitchen, returning almost immediately with a large glass of orange juice and a bottle of water. Vicki had used the intervening time to straighten the robe so that she was more 'decent'.

"You should drink Vicki, you need the fluids," he said placing the glass in her hand. "The hour grows late love. , Will you stay?"

Vicki lifted the glass to her lips, surprised at how wonderful the juice tasted as it slid down her throat. She eyed the remaining wrapped present under the tree; she knew it contained the red silk negligee resting amid the sparkling tissue.

"I _can't_ leave just yet, Henry" she said with a lascivious smile. "You still have another present to open."

FIN


End file.
